


30 Days of NSFW Stucky

by lecroixss



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 30 Day NSFW Challenge, 69 (Sex Position), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BDSM, Blow Jobs, Crossdressing, D/s, Dom/sub, First Time, Food Sex, Frottage, Implied Relationships, M/M, Masturbation, Movie Spoilers, Mutual Masturbation, NSFW, Nudity, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Public Sex, Rimming, Sex Toys, Sexual Roleplay, Shower Sex, Size Kink, Skype Sex, Stucky - Freeform, Subspace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-25
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-08-24 16:19:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 32
Words: 75,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8379076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecroixss/pseuds/lecroixss
Summary: 30 Day NSFW Challenge, Stucky style. Each chapter has its own rating, but the story rating is Explicit since it's the highest rating this will go. Chapters are labeled with the challenge and individual rating. Chapter lengths vary, and most chapters can stand alone. Chapter notes will tell you time reference and whether or not it connects to another chapter. One a day for 30 days... What am I thinking?! ;_; I am my own beta. Apologies in advance. Pumping them out this fast may result in errors. You have been warned!





	1. Introduction and Prompt List

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Introduction and prompt list.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I found this OTP challenge and decided that, on top of everything else I SHOULD be doing, to procrastinate with this as an excuse. Plus I suck at NaNoWriMo and maybe writing once a day for 30 days will trick me into thinking I totally accomplished that. Found the original list while browsing, so credit to [FawkesFlame123](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FawkesFlame123) for the idea (even if they didn't realize it). Each chapter is headed with its individual warnings, timing, and rating. They're supposed to be drabbles, but their actual length will vary wildly, no doubt. I apologize in advance. 
> 
> Full challenge list is here, and I'll be doing it in order per chapter. Like FawkesFlame123, I'm going to strike through ones I've completed as I post them. Because why not?
> 
> Since I'm posting so fast, there's no beta. ;_; FORGIVE ME. 
> 
> I own nothing. If I did, Stucky would be canon.

~~1\. Cuddles (naked)~~  
~~2\. Kiss (naked)~~  
~~3\. First time~~  
~~4\. Masturbation~~  
~~5\. Blow job~~  
~~6\. Clothed getting off~~  
~~7\. Dressed/naked (half dressed)~~  
~~8\. Skype sex~~  
~~9\. Against the wall~~  
~~10\. Doggy style~~  
~~11\. Dom/sub~~  
~~12\. Fingering~~  
~~13\. Rimming~~  
~~14\. 69~~  
~~15\. Sweet and passionate~~  
~~16\. In public place~~  
~~17\. On the floor~~  
~~18\. Morning lazy sex~~  
~~19\. Outdoors, woods, parks, gardens (moonlight request!)~~  
~~20\. Your own kink (crossdressing)~~  
~~21\. Shower sex~~  
~~22\. On the desk~~  
~~23\. Trying new position~~  
~~24\. Shy~~  
~~25\. With toys (+size kink)~~  
~~26\. Boring sex~~  
~~27\. Rough, biting, scratch~~  
~~28\. Role playing~~  
~~29\. With food~~  
~~30\. Whatever pleases you (It's a surprise!)~~

**COMPLETE!**

I still look forward to any kind of feedback! <3 Thank you so much, everyone!


	2. Cuddles (Naked) (M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter takes place during WWII, just after Steve rescues Bucky. Rated M for nudity. No smut today. Sorry. D:
> 
> Feels + fluff ahoy!

Steve's debriefing was much longer than Bucky's, partially because he'd more or less gone AWOL and broken into a Nazi base, metaphorical guns blazing, and partially because he was too worried about his best friend-- his lover-- being alone again. About what could have happened in the time they were apart. What happened in that base.

After his third polite request to "Repeat the question, sir?" he'd been dismissed as too tired to gather coherent answers. Howard was particularly displeased, as he'd wanted to know more about what the enemy had in terms of technology, but Steve wouldn't have been able to help him with that much anyway. Still, they'd gotten all the important information.

As soon as he took the fastest shower of his life, he strode across the camp to find Bucky's tent. He'd intended to simply go inside, but suddenly he hesitated. Unfounded doubts crept up on him: What if Bucky didn't want to see him right now? What if he was embarrassed about having to be rescued? Shit, this was his first time seeing Steve after the serum. What if he wanted nothing to do with the 'new' Steve?

"I can hear ya worryin' from in here, punk." Bucky's voice was rough but just loud enough to be heard past the thick canvas walls. "Just get in here 'fore ya have a panic attack."

Relieved, Steve opened the tent flap and fastened it securely behind him. The skies promised more rain soon.

"Never panicked in my life, jerk," he tried to joke. It fell flat. He'd panicked plenty of times. He was panicking now.

Bucky was seated, shirt off, facing away from him. He was freshly shaved and putting away his knife when his eyes caught Steve's in his warped, makeshift mirror. "So I wasn't seein' things. Started wonderin'. There's a lot more a' you these days, Stevie."

Steve shifted. Bucky was still too thin, eyes slightly sunken, bruises and marks and scars amply littering his body.

"Ah, ya know. Told ya I'd get here somehow."

Bucky turned his face away abruptly, but not before Steve caught the broken look in the mirror. His heart squeezed again.

"Guess there's no point in tellin' ya t' go back home, huh?" Bucky fumbled with his boots over the edge of the cot.

"Stuck with me, jerk. Till the end of the line." Steve didn't realize how soft his voice had gotten.

"End of the line," Bucky exhaled. Steve could only hear him thanks to the serum.

"Buck, I--"

The promised rain fell without warning, rattling the canvas. A sharp wind cut through the tent, making Bucky shiver, huddling in on himself. Before he could even think twice, Steve was on the cot, awkward in the new sensation of being the larger of the two. But Bucky had done this for him plenty of times on those cold nights when neither could afford real heating. Gently, he wrapped his arms around the smaller man, pressing his heat to chilled skin. Bucky flinched and Steve tensed, but neither really moved away.

"Thought I told you not to do anythin' stupid," Bucky finally murmured.

"And I told you, you took all the stupid with ya. Look how that turned out." After a pause, Steve added with a smugness he didn't really feel, "I was right."

"You were always the smarter one."

Steve's heart wrenched in his chest as Bucky turned away from him again. He could feel the shivers, now mixed with the gentle shakes of silent tears, against his chest. He covered more of his friend, pressing them even closer together. He didn't know if it was for his comfort or Bucky's anymore, but it didn't much matter.

"Hey, hey." Steve coaxed Bucky into facing him, if not looking at him. He had to hunch over a little to do it, and for some reason even that broke his heart. "It was pure stupid made me haul my ass to a place rains eight days of seven." He paused. He wasn't sure how fragile Bucky was right now, but he had to say it while they still had time. His voice quieted even more, for Bucky's ears only. "It was love made me haul my ass to the only place had my best guy. Couldn't sit there never knowin', Buck. An' I'm glad I came."

Finally, _finally_ , Bucky looked at him properly. "It too selfish to say I'm glad too?"

Steve couldn't help himself. He smiled. It was small but it felt powerful, shoving deep into his heart, quelling his previous fears. He smiled wider when Bucky relaxed, his eyes softening in the way they did only for Steve.

Steve brushed his lips against Bucky's in a chaste kiss. He wanted more, but the exhaustion was practically pouring off his lover, and even with the serum Steve was tired.

"Y'need to rest," Steve muttered against Bucky's lips. Steve felt the minute nod of assent. Bucky knew he needed to sleep. "All right, I'm two tents over." 

Another brush of lips and Steve started to rise. He was surprised when Bucky tightened his grip. If he wasn't so cold, Bucky might have blushed. He released his grip immediately, but Steve sat back down anyway. Too many years of knowing each other could be a blessing and curse all at once, Bucky thought. He hadn't meant to give away that particular weakness.

"What is it? Buck?" And damn it all if Bucky had ever been able to resist that concerned face, blue eyes wide and brows drawn together, peering up through long lashes. Up, still up, even now that Steve was taller than him. 

"I… ah…" Bucky fought against himself. There were a lot of things you told your family, your friends, even your lover. There were things that you told fellow soldiers. And there were things you never wanted to talk about, things that pulled at you and made you feel like having it in the open would leave you bare. But Steve was all those things and more. If it left him bare, Bucky knew Steve would cover him, wrap him in the kind of close-- the kind of love-- that only his Stevie seemed capable of. So he opened his mouth again. He could say some of it, at least. Parts. "Nightmares." He had to grit his teeth to get it out. "I don't… When I wake up, the table…" He wanted to hit something. Why was this so hard?

But Steve read between the lines. He always knew how to, with Bucky. "I'll stay here. I gotcha."

After a few moments of silence, the wind cut through the walls again, worming between their bodies and reminding them that Bucky still needed sleep. Real, healing sleep.

Steve got up and peeled down the covers of the narrow cot. "C'mon." He started stripping, boots in easy reach and socks draped somewhere they hopefully wouldn't get wet. Any other time, Bucky might have stopped to admire; been aroused. But he was too drained.

"Stevie, what in God's name you think you're doin'?" he sighed. One hand went to his forehead. He could feel a headache pressing against his eyes. "It's cold an' wet. You'll get--" Pneumonia was what he was going to say, but this new Steve didn't get sick any more, did he?

Steve ratcheted up the innocent look as he unbuckled his belt. "Makin' things even. You're half-naked, an' I'm feelin' overdressed."

"Well now you're takin' off your pants too, punk. Goin' a bit far to blend in."

"Buck, it's cold and wet and the only things that ain't gonna get either of us sicker is our own skin. You know it. Hell, you taught me it."

Steve shoved his pants off. He didn't have any underwear on, but he seemed to be used to it and he slipped into the bed, apparently impatient. "Not like we ain't done this before. Come on. Ya look like you're gonna fall over any second."

"Steve…" Bucky tried to stare him down but gave up. He didn't have any skivvies either. They were in short (haha) supply around here. "I taught you that when we was seven," he grumbled as he undid his pants. "And we haven't done this since we was seven, either."

Steve's eyes glimmered with humor. "Well there was that time when--"

"Shaddap." Naked now, Bucky crawled under the covers. They were plain and scratchy as hell, but they were sturdy, and the wool was treated against the wet at least. With Steve's bulk, the fit was tight on the cot. Bucky found himself curled comfortably against Steve's chest. It was odd, being the little spoon. But, true to his word, Steve wrapped himself around Bucky and his body exuded a gentle heat that warmed him straight through, body and soul.

Pillowed on Steve's arm, Bucky gave in to the urge to nuzzle into the other man, getting comfortable and breathing in the scent of Steve for the first time in months. It was something he didn't think he'd ever get to do again. Even back in Brooklyn, Bucky had always taken comfort in Steve's scent, loved the excuses they'd find to cuddle under heaps of blankets until their scents mingled.

"What're we gonna say if someone barges in here, or the call comes?" Bucky muttered into Steve's skin.

"If I learned one thing since gettin' here, Buck, it's that war changes things. All the crap you've been through. The guys, me… Ain't no one gonna say a damn thing." Steve rarely cursed, having been raised a good Catholic child. But apparently the thought of someone 'saying something' while Bucky was finally safe and with him was a little much. 

Bucky felt warm all over again when Steve burrowed his nose into the nape of Bucky's neck, his regulation short hair tickling a little. Bucky could already feel his own eyes drooping closed. A thought occurred to him, making him snap his eyes open again.

"Hey, Stevie?"

"Yeah, Buck?"

"You know you're still my best fella, right?"

He could feel rather than see the shy smile spreading across Steve's face. He could imagine the blush staining soft cheeks. "Yeah, jerk, I know. So sleep. Couldn't get rid a' me if ya tried."

"Wouldn't even think of it. Punk."

Finally giving in to his body's demands, Bucky let himself drift into sleep. Somehow, he didn't think those nightmares would come tonight.


	3. Naked Kiss(ing) (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only slightly smutty. Takes place directly after Chapter One. 
> 
> You can probably read this one alone. Just know that the setting is after Bucky is rescued from Zola’s lab in Cap 1, and they are sharing a bed in a tent… naked. :3

Bucky slowly swims towards consciousness to feel a warm, gentle pressure—the most fleeting of caresses—on his right eyelid. Then his left. Then the middle of his forehead. If he needed a reminder that he isn’t waking up in that nightmare of a lab, this is it. His eyes flutter open as the warm pressure moves to spot the apples of his cheeks, and then the tip of his nose.

Going almost cross-eyed with the effort, he squints down at Steve, who’s moved on to kissing his chin and up the line of his jaw. It’s good and sweet and so utterly _Steve_ that it makes him want to melt into the thin, regulation mattress. He accepts each kiss for what it is: a study in love and a silent promise. 

He lets Steve keep going until the blond is nudging at his chin and kissing a line down his throat before he finally puts a stop to it. Well, in a manner of speaking. That is, if ‘stop’ means snaking one hand up the covers and gripping Steve’s chin, forcing him into an actual, honest-to-God kiss.

Bucky moans somewhere deep in his throat, moving his lips gently against Steve’s for a moment before opening up, licking between them until Steve gives him entry into his mouth. One of them—he isn’t sure who—moans again at the taste. Bucky is in the novel position of having Steve hover over him, his arms bracketing Bucky like a solid shield against the world. There are things he’ll miss about the kid he left in Brooklyn, but he’s starting to realize there are a few perks to Steve’s new physicality. While he likes doing the protecting, Bucky never knew how much freedom there could be in being the protected. And when he digs a hand into Steve’s hair, dragging them apart to pant into each others’ mouths, he realizes that he never knew how much _power_ could come from this position.

Steve moves against him, blocking out even more of the outside world. Bucky tilts his head to the side in a silent request: one that Steve obeys immediately by nuzzling at Bucky’s neck before sucking and nipping behind his ear. The sensation of skin on skin is getting even _his_ tired, abused body to start responding. He wonders idly as he traces a line down Steve’s bare arm how quiet they can really be.

Quiet enough, he thinks.

He turns his face to kiss Steve breathless. Before Steve can move in again, Bucky traces his lips with one finger. “Hey, Stevie, you think we—” …can move this along, was what he had been going to say in that smart-ass way of his, but the morning call cuts sharp and swift through the air, making them both flinch minutely before groaning. Steve thumps his head down beside Bucky’s on the pillow. For all his frustration, watching _Steve_ get this worked up is still more amusing, so Bucky chortles and ruffles Steve’s hair affectionately. Steve gives him a smacking kiss on his naked shoulder before turning a baleful eye on the brunette.

“I’m not the one who’s gotta go rally the troops, Captain,” Bucky teases. Just to make things worse for Steve, he nips the blond on the jaw. Steve shivers slightly and Bucky can feel his erection pressing against his thigh. He smirks.

“You’re enjoying this too much,” Steve accuses. But he’s already rolling out of bed like the good soldier he is. And like the good _lover_ he is, he carefully tucks the blankets around Bucky in his wake, trapping the warmth.

“Mmmm… I’m enjoying _something_ ,” he drawls out with a smirk and eyeballing Steve’s naked form. It’s not as elegant as the old Stevie, but there are things to be said for the serum. Steve turns away and flushes, buttoning his pants hurriedly. It’s cute, how Steve still reacts that way. How his blush still has the same tendency to spread down his chest and burn the tips of his ears. Some things just don’t change, Bucky supposes. Like the way Steve fumbles with his shirt when getting dressed, even if the clothes are different. Or the way he smiles when it’s just the two of them, like Bucky hung the moon.

Or the way he kisses, sweet and gentle, even the most chaste contact a promise to be together ‘til the end of the line.


	4. First Time (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, technically this is 30 minutes late. ;_; I apologize.
> 
> -
> 
> This takes place in an alternate timeline after CA:WS, where Bucky is brought in by Steve and has adjusted to living with the other Avengers. Everything is happy families and there are no evil robots or infighting WHATESOEVER. ;_;
> 
> However, there may be annoying and/or annoyed Tower-mates.
> 
> Comments and kudos are what keep me going. <3

Steve Rogers was never a Boy Scout, no matter _what_ Tony Stark says. For one, he was always too sick to be able to do much of anything, and for another… well, the first one really covered it all, didn’t it? He was pretty much lucky to live to see twenty at all. But he _was_ in a war, which probably taught him better than any Boy Scout troop to always be prepared.

Between that, the introduction of the internet, Tony rigging his cell phone to play “The Internet is for Porn” for a week straight, and a link to RedTube that Clint sent him (that embarrassed the hell out of Steve and taught him never to click on links from his teammates blindly), he’s learned a whole lot more about the way… _things_ work than he ever could have in the forties. Legally, anyway.

But the more prepared he is, the more nervous he gets too.

Before (and during) the war, he and Bucky had only ever gotten as far as blowjobs and handjobs. Before the serum, Bucky was always too worried about hurting Steve, and Steve had no idea what he was doing. After the serum, there was just never enough time. When Steve came out of the ice, he gave things with Shannon a good try, he really did. But it never went much of anywhere because somewhere inside he was still grieving for Bucky. Shannon chalked it up to “chemistry” and kindly let him off the hook.

But now Bucky’s been back for _months_ and Steve _still_ doesn’t know what to do. They’ve definitely been intimate, taking things at their own fumbling pace until heated tussles under the covers started feeling more natural. While Bucky technically had an apartment at the Tower, most of his scant belongings were in Steve’s, and the newer pieces of furniture and décor had been picked out by them both.

So _why_ can’t Steve just take the plunge? It’s basically the only thing they haven’t done together at this point, but how is he supposed to approach his best friend and lover and say, ‘Hey, Buck, what we have is great but since you’re healthy now and— oh, so am I! Funny, that—I really want you to take me like you mean it, until I scream and beg and don’t know anything but you anymore.’

Kind of hard to be subtle with something like that.

But, like always, it’s Bucky who comes to his rescue.

\---

It’s late in the afternoon, warm sunlight spilling through the windows, and they’ve been ignoring the third Lord of the Rings in favor of making out for almost an hour. The movie is a nice background murmur and their clothes are half-off. Steve’s been hard for a while now, and Bucky teases him with abortive dips of his hand below his waistband. Steve retaliates with slow rolls of their hips, grinding their trapped erections together and moaning into Bucky’s neck. Bucky pops the button on Steve’s jeans and palms him through his underwear, nosing behind Steve’s ear to lick and nip. Steve is panting, tracing the scars across Bucky’s left shoulder in a way that makes the brunet shiver, when Bucky pulls away just slightly so he can murmur in Steve’s ear.

“Stevie, God, I—” His breath hitches as Steve rakes his fingers down Bucky’s back, but he gulps and resumes talking. “Steve, Stevie, please baby. Can I… Can we…” He moans as Steve rolls against him. “Dammit, Steve, if you don’t slow the hell down I’m going to fuck you before I can even ask!”

They both freeze at the outburst. Bucky’s eyes go round like he can’t believe his own mouth, and Steve suspects he’s gaping like a fish because here he was, trying to get Bucky riled up enough that it would seem like a good idea to finally take the next step, and trust Buck to just lay it all out in the open like that.

After a beat, Bucky groans and hides his face in Steve’s shoulder. “I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I’m okay with waiting, Stevie, however long you—”

“Yes,” Steve manages.

“What?”

“I said yes, jerk.” And before either of them can say anything else stupid, he crashes their mouths together with even more eagerness and desperation than before, hoping _that_ will say the rest for him.

He can feel Bucky smile into the kiss before he eagerly presses Steve back, taking control.

“Bed,” Bucky growls between kisses. “Now.”

Steve is only too happy to comply. It takes them longer than usual, between stopping to grope each other, switching who leads and who follows, and one time when they trip and almost end up ripping each other’s clothes off on the floor before Steve remembers that lube will be necessary and theirs is in the nightstand.

Bucky crowds Steve onto the bed, shoving him roughly until the blond slides up the sheets to the center of the bed. Steve shoots an arm out, blindly groping for the nightstand drawer as Bucky chuckles somewhere above him, murmuring something about being eager. Steve slams the stand hard enough to knock off the lamp when Bucky takes one of his nipples into his mouth and sucks lightly, the sensation zinging up Steve’s spine and then straight back down to his cock. He makes a strangled noise and redoubles his efforts to find the bottle of lube he _knows_ is in there somewhere because he put it there himself.

Bucky is a little shit, because just as Steve closes his hand around the bottle, he scrapes his teeth over the sensitive nub, nails digging into Steve’s sides lightly as he drags his hands down at the same time, and the combination makes Steve arch off the bed and clench his fists, completely rupturing the bottle he’d _just_ gotten in hand. Bucky just laughs as Steve tries to muster a glare through a haze of pleasure.

But even if he was never a Boy Scout, Steve is still prepared, so before Bucky can roll off him to go find the lube stashed in the bathroom, Steve hooks the other man in place with his legs, rutting up against him and drawing him into another desperate kiss. He finds a new favorite use for his ambidexterity when he slides his lube-covered hand down Bucky’s ass, making Bucky hiss and bear down on him, while also fishing for a smaller bottle of lube he’d stored between the headboard and the mattress.

If he wasn’t so turned on, Bucky would laugh at the way Steve produces the bottle like magic, but as it is he just makes sure the blond has set it down before roughly biting the crook of his neck, making Steve cry out again. And Bucky is hard, _so_ hard, but he wants to make it good. And thanks to his own limited experience with dames who didn’t want to risk getting knocked up, and advice from Natasha but no thanks to Clint’s trolling email links, he knows that he’ll have to take things slow no matter _how_ badly he wants to pin Steve to the mattress and fuck him raw.

He tugs at Steve’s pants and underwear, nearly ripping them in frustration when it turns out their legs are in the way, but Steve is smart and wonderful and lifts his ass off the bed so they can be removed safely. Bucky manages to rid himself of his clothes and when he looks up he feels breathless all over again.

He might never get over the sight of Steve’s body in all its naked glory. In every form, Steve has always been beautiful to Bucky. Small and knobbly or like a Greek Adonis, it’s still his Stevie, looking at him like he hung the moon, eyes wide and vulnerable and brimming with love. Bucky slows down almost on instinct, needing to show Steve how much he reciprocates those feelings. He tangles their hands together and kisses across Steve’s chest, feeling the dark flush and the frantic pounding of Steve’s heart under his lips. He covers the other man in kisses, across his chest and up his neck, down one shoulder and then the other before claiming his mouth again, plunging his tongue deep so all he can taste is Steve. He swallows Steve’s moans, greedy to possess even his _sounds_ they’re so beautiful.

Steve thinks he might go mad, but with love or lust he’s not sure. Bucky spent so long being tormented, lost, controlled, that witnessing him take control for himself makes Steve both proud and turned on in nearly equal measure. He’s misted in sweat, writhing shamelessly under Bucky. He’d beg if he could, but his mouth is too preoccupied with kissing Bucky, savoring his taste and the feeling of the brunet’s tongue on his, tracing the roof of his mouth and curling their tongues together. So preoccupied, in fact, that he misses it when Bucky uses their twined hands to gather up some of the slick from Steve, his other hand lifting the blond’s hips so he can slip a finger down and massage his hole. But that last action… _That_ Steve feels, and it’s odd but good because it makes him feel vulnerable but _wanted_ , because it’s Bucky and he wants this too, and Steve is so hard that precum is starting to pool obscenely on his stomach.

Bucky massages his hole for a few seconds before panting between them, “You sure, Stevie?”

Steve doesn’t even deign that with a verbal answer. Instead he shoves back onto Bucky’s finger and drags him into another messy kiss. Bucky gets the idea and slips a digit into Steve, who nearly wants to cry with relief. Whining high in his throat, he wriggles impatiently as Bucky takes his time.

“More,” Steve manages between frantic kisses. It comes out like something between a whine and a growl, and Bucky complies, groaning into Steve’s shoulder when the blond takes two fingers easily.

“You sure this is your first time?” Bucky huffs.

“Might’ve—” Steve gives a startled cry and arcs off the bed, hanging onto his control by mere threads as Bucky hits that one spot inside him that makes him see stars. Bucky smiles into his skin and does it again, making Steve toss his head wildly from side to side, clenching his teeth to keep from coming too soon. He doesn’t want to yet, not without Bucky. 

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Steve mutters as Bucky switches back to scissoring and twisting his fingers, prepping Steve. The glimpse he gets of Bucky’s face tells Steve that he knew _exactly_ what he was doing. Steve doggedly gets his mind back on track. Two can play that game.

He loops one arm around Bucky’s neck, dragging him close enough to nip sharply at his earlobes. He draws his knees up and rocks against Bucky’s fingers and whispers wetly into his ear, “Might’ve fingered myself a few times, gettin’ ready for this.” The noise Bucky makes is almost pained, and he ruts against the mattress subconsciously; abortive little thrusts. Steve locks his legs behind Bucky’s thighs and drags him closer, until Bucky is in a singularly awkward position, unable to properly move his hand but with their erections pressed deliciously between them. “Might’ve imagined you in me, once or twice. Might’ve used three, maybe four fingers, pretending it was you.”

This time Bucky sounds feral. He had no idea his Stevie had been waiting for so long, or even knew how to talk dirty. He didn’t know, but he likes it. His mental processes shut down to little more than _want_ and _mine_ and _beautiful_. He moves faster, still watching Steve’s face for anything akin to pain, but he sees nothing but blatant desire in the blond’s darkened, hooded eyes.

He’s only had three fingers in Steve for a minute or so before Steve becomes uncoordinated, hands sliding over every expanse of Bucky’s skin like he’ll die without the extra contact. “Buck, come on, please. _Please_ …” he begs.

It’s the begging that does it. Bucky slicks himself up and makes to flip Steve over, but the other man shakes his head violently.

“Steve, baby, it’ll hurt less if you’re on your stomach,” he soothes.

“No,” Steve grits out. “No. Don’t care. Want to… want to see you.”

How can Bucky argue with that?

Trembling only slightly, Bucky hooks one of Steve’s legs over his shoulder and lines himself up. Steve is panting harshly but keeps chanting Bucky’s name like there’s nothing more important in the world. Bucky bites his lower lip and slides in, pushing until his cockhead is fully sheathed before pausing to see if Steve is still all right.

Steve is more than all right. He’s fucking _fantastic_. It’s too much and not enough, so he arcs his back and flexes his legs and _moans_ , pulling Bucky deeper into him. It’s what he wants, that delicious slide, the feeling of being full, of Bucky’s pulse so close to his own. 

Bucky shudders and slams home, fully sheathed in Steve, and the feeling punches a breathless groan from him. It’s better than he imagined, being inside of his best guy. Feeling Steve’s walls pulse around him, drawing him in nice and tight, their bodies entwined as close as possible. It takes a supreme effort to pull out, away from that warmth, but once he slides back in he can’t stop.

Steve almost chokes on his own breath when Bucky starts moving in him. It hurts, but that’s nothing compared to the glorious sensation of _Bucky_ being inside him, pistoning his hips at a brutal pace. And then Bucky shifts and Steve swallows a scream of pleasure as Bucky nails his prostate. Bucky’s brown hair is falling in sweaty strands around him, his pupils wide and fucked-out, and it’s the best damn thing Steve’s seen this century. Everything fades except the feeling of pleasure spooling up his spine and coiling low in his belly, perilously close but wanting the moment to last. He’s not even aware of his own nonsensical chanting: “Buck,” and “God,” and “More, please.” He _does_ hear Bucky’s bitten-off words, a litany of praises peppered with Steve’s name.

Steve feels like he’s going to explode, but something is holding him back. He starts begging in earnest, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes with overstimulation and frustration. Bucky kisses them away and shifts again, making Steve howl, before reaching between them to stroke Steve’s swollen, neglected cock.

One touch is all it takes for Steve to unravel. He comes harder than he ever has before, freezing up with his fingers digging bruises into Bucky’s back, his vision and hearing whiting out with pleasure so strong it makes him sob. The feeling of Steve clamping around him like a vice sets Bucky off too, and only some semblance of muscle memory keeps him fucking into Steve until they’re both shuddering and spent.

Bucky places a fumbling kiss on Steve’s lips before pulling out, making the blond hiss unhappily. Bucky collapses just to the side of Steve. It takes him a minute to will himself to move, and even then it’s just to wipe Steve and himself down with a corner of the bedsheet so they can spoon comfortably. Steve is still too blissed-out and only shivers at Bucky’s gentle touches, his body lax as Bucky pulls him in close.

Bucky is nuzzling Steve’s hair and kissing the crown of his head when he finally manages to string syllables into words.

“God, Buck.”

“Mmm.”

He doesn’t know how to express what he’s feeling, so he settles on, “Thank you.”

Bucky strokes his side soothingly, lulling him further towards sleep. “Love you too, punk.”

 

=

**BONUS**

Bucky and Steve are headed for the communal kitchen when Natasha and Clint appear out of nowhere and block their path. Bucky pulls up short and Steve, who’d been walking slightly behind him, starts a little with surprise.

Clint looks Bucky dead in the eye. “Who helped you more: me or Tasha?” he demands.

Bucky barely even bats an eyelash. “Natasha,” he responds promptly. Natasha smiles and holds out one hand, not bothering to glance at the other assassin. Clint grumbles and smacks what looks like a fifty into her palm.

“Told you,” Natasha says smugly. The cash vanishes somewhere on her person.

Clint looks pained. “C’mon, man. After I sent you all those videos? You’re really going with Tasha?”

Bucky is aware that behind him, Steve has gone rigid and is probably looking mortified or blushing, or probably both. He folds his arms across his chest. “Here I thought you were trying to troll me. Natasha gave me actual advice.”

“…Which seems highly suspect to me!” Clint interjects. “Especially since it _wasn’t_ supposed to be from personal experience, as I would’ve been at a serious disadvantage!” He glares at Natasha accusingly.

The redhead shrugs coolly. “I don’t have personal experience,” she says in a level tone. It sounds like they’ve had this argument more than once.

“Then how is your ‘advice’ better than my highly instructional videos?!”

“First, you just sent him a lot of porn.” Steve’s head lands on Bucky’s shoulder. He’s definitely blushing. Natasha ignores this and goes on. “Second, it’s called research, Clint.”

“What the hell kind of research?! If it’s firsthand research you know that counts, right?”

“No, Clint, not _personal_ research.” She sounds like a mother repeating a lesson to her child. Clint pouts and makes a flapping motion with his hands; ‘yeah, yeah, I know.’

Natasha flashes them all with a predatory smile. “Just very… thorough research. From a while ago,” she adds. Somehow Bucky isn’t surprised, but Steve and Clint gape at her in shock. If possible, Steve blushes even harder.

“Congrats on getting on with the twenty-first century, you two.” Natasha winks at Bucky and Steve, offering a small wave before gliding smoothly around them and back down the hall. Steve automatically shuffles back to let her pass.

There’s a long beat, and Natasha’s already turned a corner before Clint unfreezes enough to bolt after her. “Tasha, hold on a sec! What does that even mean? Tasha?! Hey!”

Steve and Bucky wait until Clint disappears too. Then Steve groans and smacks a hand across his overheated face. “Were we that obvious, Buck?”

Bucky just laughs and pulls Steve’s hand away, sliding it into his own. “Let’s go eat dinner, punk.”

Steve is still blushing, but he starts to smile and lets himself be pulled along.

“Jerk.”


	5. Masturbation (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same general timeline as the previous chapter: Alternate modern universe between CA:WS and Avengers. Bucky lives in the Tower and everything is happy and awesome when the world isn’t ending. Steve and Bucky are in an established relationship.
> 
> Comments and kudos keep me alive. <3
> 
> Also, I know that masturbation is supposed to be a solo act but, much like Bucky in this fic, I just couldn’t help myself. :3

Steve’s been gone for a while now. He left a little more than a week ago along with Clint and Natasha—some kind of stealth mission with radio silence. Normally that would worry Bucky and he would have pushed harder to tag along, but Steve insisted that it would be relatively short, and the radio silence was only a precaution. A short talk with Natasha confirmed this, and another talk with Clint reassured him of both his friends’ safety when the other man admitted that, “I’m mostly along as an extra set of eyes and long-range support in case of emergencies. We decided not to bring Tony because he basically _is_ an emergency.” 

So around ten days isn’t too alarming, since their return isn’t estimated for another day or so. Depending on where they went, the transit time alone could account for an entire day if they needed to be stealthy and not, say, parachute from the sky like the human weapons they really are.

God he hopes they didn’t do that.

Point being, around midnight on a Sunday, Bucky has officially gone ten solid days without Steve, and it’s throwing him off a little. It’s not like they need to be around each other all the time or even have sex every week like some kind of appointment. But Bucky _always_ misses Steve’s weight and warmth in bed, and, ok, picking today to push play on the rom-com list that Clint had queued up for him might have been a mistake, because Nick in _What’s Your Number?_ looks a shade too close to Steve, if he isn’t paying full attention, and watching not-quite-Steve wander into an apartment hall mostly naked has wreaked havoc on his libido. He tries to ignore his little problem and just watch the damn movie because he _isn’t_ a horny fifteen-year-old. He _isn’t_.

It’s been almost an hour since the movie ended and Bucky finally caves. Sulking like a teenager is about as bad as being horny like a teenager, and one of them is more pleasant. He strips himself down and finds the lube before getting comfortable on the too-big bed. As an afterthought, he takes one of Steve’s pillows and shoves it under his neck and shoulders so the other man’s scent surrounds him, adding to the fantasy. He takes deep breaths in through his nose and imagines Steve close to him, whispering sappy nonsense probably, smelling like summer sun and clean sweat and the apple shampoo he likes so much, and wraps his hand around his now-aching cock.

He lets out a whoosh of breath at the initial contact, coaxing himself with a few skilled flicks of his wrist into full hardness, he manages to get some lube on his flesh hand and warms it before sliding it down his shaft, nice and slow, imagining it’s Steve’s mouth on him, saliva slicking him up. Bucky twitches one of his fingers in a pale imitation of something Steve might do with his tongue, but he’s really getting with the program now and he can conjure the image of Steve, mouth full and obscene, giving Bucky that damn innocent look as he flicks his tongue over the brunet’s slit.

_Fuck._

He drags his other hand through the slick around his cock, pretending it’s Steve sucking on his digits, and lifts his hips, spreading his legs wantonly for better access. He mentally shoves away the feeling of cold metal, replacing it with the memory of Steve’s calloused, warm fingers plunging inside him. A few pumps and Bucky is torn between fucking up into his fist or down onto his fingers. If he wanted to, he could keep this up for quite some time, but without the actual Steve there doesn’t seem to be much point. Still, he turns his head so the next time he takes in a deep breath he inhales the smell of _Steve_. 

But _God_ , that’s good. He moans and the sounds feeds back into his ears. His vivid memories supply the echo of Steve’s moans twined with his, and it goes straight to his cock. Working himself up faster now, he moans even louder, turning himself on with the sound, and curls his fingers inside himself until he hits that perfect spot.

“F-Fuck!” he curses. He pumps at himself faster, breath now starting to come in little pants, but he makes sure than when he relaxes back onto his back, he has his nose buried in Steve’s pillow. In minutes he’s truly writhing, his skin misted in sweat and moaning Steve’s name, three fingers deep and arching up every time he hits his prostate. He _might_ be staving off his own climax so he doesn’t have to come back to the real world, where he’ll come down from his endorphin high on his own and wait two more days to see Steve’s face.

He’s so focused inward that he doesn’t fully register the bed dipping under the weight of a second person. He thinks its his imagination—still in overdrive—when he hears Steve’s voice husk, “Let me help you with that, Buck.” But he _knows_ he’s not dreaming when Steve’s warm hand curls around Bucky’s tightening their grip on his cock.

Bucky’s eyes fly open. His heart jumps and flutters from the scare, but his body has been craving this for long enough that it’s apparently made his choice for him and ignored any possible warning bells of Steve’s actual, physical approach. Even that temporary flash of alarm adds to his haze of pleasure, pushing his senses into acuity so he can feel every point of contact between himself and Steve. 

With Steve hovering at his side, Bucky is forced to abandon his hole, whining at the loss, so wipe his fingers hastily on the corner of a sheet and hook one arm around Steve's neck to yank him down for a frantic, crushing kiss. Steve responds enthusiastically, adding a little twist to their shared grip on Bucky’s cock that makes him gasp, stealing Steve’s breath. Steve smiles into the kiss and does it again, and this time Bucky whines deep in his throat. He’s close, but he doesn’t want to stop kissing Steve.

Steve, God bless him, makes things easy for his best guy. He pulls away only long enough to breathe between them, “Bucky. Come for me?” And even though it sounds like a request Bucky treats it like a command, his cries of pleasure swallowed up as Steve promptly seals his mouth over his again, hand still moving, working him through his orgasm until Bucky is completely spent.

When he thinks he can form proper words again, Bucky tries to muster an accusing glare at Steve. The effect is ruined because he’s still too blissed-out, and Steve works hard to suppress an indulgent smile: Bucky won’t appreciate it if he feels he’s being laughed at when he’s clearly attempting to be pissed.

“You’re back early,” Bucky accuses.

“Finished up faster than we thought.” Steve nips a soft line along Bucky’s jaw, humming under his breath.

“How long were you just standin’ there like a creep?”

“Mmm… Long enough to figure it out, but not long enough for a real show.” Bucky shivers as Steve draws a line across the come liberally coating his abdomen. “Seemed to me like it was only polite to help my fella out.” He quirks an eyebrow before leaning back in to kiss Bucky’s forehead. “That my pillow?” he murmurs.

Bucky feels himself flush at that, but luckily it’s probably masked by his overall exertion. “Smells like you,” he says defensively. “And if you laugh, Stevie, or call me _’cute’_ , I swear you’ll be finding spiders in your socks for _months_.”

Steve gets up, wetting a towel in the bathroom before returning to clean Bucky up. Bucky wonders, not for the first time, how Steve can make just about anything sensuous or worshipping: an act of love. The man is fully clothed and cleaning up a mess _Bucky_ made in _their_ bed and his expression says it’s a fucking _privilege_ to do it.

“I wasn’t going to call you ‘cute,’” Steve tells him mildly. He must have grabbed a shower before he de-briefed, because his hair is still damp and his clothes are all casual wear. He starts stripping down for bed. “‘Adorable,’ maybe,” he teases.

Bucky glares harder. 

“I like it. Means you missed me.” Steve coaxes him under the covers properly and rolls him over so Steve can be the big spoon tonight. Bucky still has both pillows, but Steve doesn’t seem to care.

“Course I missed you, punk.”

“Mmm. I missed you too, jerk.” Steve slides their hands together, his breathing already evening out. “Hope you’re tired, ‘cause I am.”

Bucky relaxes further into the bed and the warm embrace of Steve’s arms. “Night Stevie.” But the other man is already asleep. Bucky smiles to himself. He can still smell Steve’s pillow, situated as it is under his cheek. But the real Steve is so much better. Kissing their entwined hands, he settles and lets his eyes drift shut. “Love you.”


	6. Blow Job (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided that I’m willing to take suggestions/requests for those prompts left that are open. I need at least a one day lead (obviously), but things like time frame, a certain tone, and/or suggestions for the ‘open’ slots (eg: your own kink; role play) are all welcome. You can refer to the first chapter/master list to see which prompts are left.
> 
> I decided to go with Pre-Serum!Steve for this one.
> 
> With no beta, your comments are all the feedback I have! Kudos are loved too. <3

Everyone says that people are deep; that you can’t really know everything about a single person. And Steve figures this to be true, especially in Bucky’s case. Everyone looks at his best friend and sees a handsome, charming, stand-up fella: easy on the eyes and good with the ladies. No one thinks about it any deeper, and that’s just how they like it. Because if you peeled away the first layer of Bucky Barnes you’d get all those things _plus_ a guy who loves a stupid punk named Steve Rogers, who fights battles too big for him and risks getting thrown into jail, Hell, and worse so long as he can make the brunet smile.

Or moan.

Or gasp.

All of which Bucky is currently doing, writhing beneath Steve’s lithe, clever hands. Steve’s cool fingers do nothing to quench the fire burning under Bucky’s skin, but the contrast makes his own hands fly frantically over the smaller man’s body, fists clenching and unclenching as he tries to find a way to hold Steve without harming him or leaving too obvious a mark.

“God, Stevie,” he moans. Anyone who really knows Steve knows that he has an attitude much bigger than his body suggests, and Bucky gets the full brunt of it when they’re like this together. Baby blue eyes gaze up at him in mock innocence, and Steve pulls away from laving one of Bucky’s nipples to make an exaggerated shushing motion.

“Quiet, Buck. Don’t wanna wake no one up, right?”

His retort is swallowed up by another moan as Steve returns to his ministrations. This one is louder than before, so Steve slaps one of those blissfully cool hands across Bucky’s mouth, effectively both stifling the noise and turning him on even more. Steve always feels like he has so much to prove, but here in the privacy of their apartment, Steve doesn’t have to prove anything. He simply takes it for granted that they’re equals and Bucky _loves_ it.

Steve tortures him beautifully for a few more minutes, nipping and licking his way down his lover’s body and refusing to remove his hand from the brunet’s mouth even when Bucky tugs half-heartedly at his wrist.

“Can you really promise me ya ain’t gonna make noise?” Steve asks rhetorically, quirking one brow at Bucky. So Bucky gives up and just thumps his head against the hard pillow.

He’s breathing hard through his nose when Steve finally removes his hand. Bucky whimpers and gasps in a full breath of air, pupils blown wide. He makes to grab for Steve, wanting a proper kiss, but the blond dodges out of the way. He makes another exaggerated shushing motion and snakes a hand down Bucky’s trousers— _and when did he undo them in the first place?_ —to take him in hand. Bucky manages to swallow a shout, turning it into a keening noise high in the back of his throat as he arches off the bed and into the delicious pressure of Steve’s hand on him. He has to bite into the meat of his own hand to stop from sobbing with pleasure and relief when Steve works him free, shoving his pants down only far enough to expose Bucky fully.

Bucky grits his teeth as Steve hums for a moment, stroking one hand down Bucky’s shaft and giving him a heated look. Steve’s eyes are dark now, intense and predatorial despite the otherwise innocent features of his delicate face. 

Bucky makes the mistake of looking at Steve for a beat too long. Those dark eyes are hypnotic, and Bucky can’t tear his gaze away as Steve slowly lowers his head, never breaking eye contact, and takes Bucky into his mouth in one long, deliberate motion, as far down as he can without choking. He lets his tongue drag down the sensitive skin, and when he’s as far as he can comfortably get, his eyes flutter shut and he _moans_.

It takes every ounce of control Bucky possesses not to thrust up into Steve’s mouth, but he bites at a curled fist to stifle a jumble flow of curses and prayers and grounds himself with the feeling of Steve’s hands lightly framing his hips. He needs that point of focus if for no other reason than not to come too early. He’s had dames suck him off before, but no dame has ever looked as pretty or sounded as beautiful as his Stevie around his cock.

Steve bobs his head, flattening his tongue against Bucky’s swollen flesh before dragging it back up to lap at his slip, moaning again at the salty taste of precum. Steve always acts like Bucky’s the best thing he’s ever tasted, diving back down greedily for more, his mouth warm and welcoming, applying just the right amount of suction every time he pulls up. 

Bucky threads his free hand through Steve’s hair. He compulsively tightens his grip every time Steve laps at his slit or hums around him, shooting spikes of pleasure through him, but he never uses his leverage to control the smaller man. He just needs something to hold on to; some way to feel even closer to Steve when they’re like this. Perversely, pulling on Steve’s hair seems to _do_ something to the smaller man. It makes him moan and hum deeper around Bucky, somehow taking even more of him in, even if that means he has to pull away more frequently for air. Bucky is glad for that, because is Steve had better lungs and didn’t need those little breaks, he’d have embarrassed himself a dozen times over by now.

By now Bucky is biting his fist hard enough that he’ll have imprints on his hand tomorrow, and he’s close to drawing blood. His own breath comes in ragged, short pants, and he’s been reduced to mumbling obscenities peppered with Steve’s name in lieu of coherent sentences. Somewhere in his fog of lust he can feel Steve moving one hand away from his hip, probably to stroke himself. Bucky feels a pang of remorse—he loves making Steve come; wants to be a good lover—but he promises in his head that he’ll make it up with interest because just now he’s too delirious to do anything else. He’s unraveling faster and Steve must sense it because he redoubles his efforts, applying more suction and relaxing his throat until Bucky can feel Steve’s lips practically at his root.

Steve tugs Bucky’s hand away from his mouth and at first the brunet resists, because he doesn’t know how he’ll stay quiet if he doesn’t have something to muffle himself with. But Steve is insistent and refuses to let go of either Bucky’s arm or his cock, gagging himself beautifully when Bucky accidentally thrashes a little too hard. The feeling of Steve’s throat clenching around his head shocks Bucky long enough that Steve can drag his arm out and tangle their fingers together, Steve’s slightly tacky with his own precum. He’s reduced to rutting against the mattress because he refuses to let go of Bucky, and Bucky would feel bad except that now _Steve is taking him even deeper, dear_ Lord _and he moans and the vibration combined with the tight fit of Steve’s throat around his cockhead, throat working around him, is too much…_

“St—!” Bucky manages to stop himself at the last second, breaking from his lover’s name into a wordless cry of pleasure as he comes undone, coming down Steve’s throat in hot spurts that the smaller man swallows with an indecent groan, enthusiastically suckling him until nothing is left.

The edges of Bucky’s vision are hazy, and he thinks he might have crushed Steve’s hand a little, but Steve crawls back up his body and kisses him lazily, so Bucky thinks it must be okay. He can taste himself on Steve, and while he’s not a huge fan of his own cum, he _is_ a huge fan of Steve, so he kisses back happily. He can feel them sticking together—Steve must have come across his own stomach and across the sheets—but Bucky honestly doesn’t care. All he wants is to bask in the afterglow and, when he’s a little more coherent, plan how to get back at Steve.

“Wasn’t so quiet at the end there,” Bucky says as soon as he thinks he can make real sentences.

Steve chuckles against him. He’s wheezing a little, but honestly it’s not that bad. Bucky is more concerned about the shivering, so he rolls to his side to spoon Steve tightly, grabbing an edge of the blanket to layer on top of them.

“It’s prolly close to one Saturday mornin’, Buck,” Steve rasps. “Everyone’s either out, back and too drunk to care, or too asleep to notice.” 

“Romantic.”

“Yup.”

“Y’know, if you was a dame I’d be jealous, wonderin’ if you was seein’ someone behind my back. How’re you always surprisin’ me?”

Steve cranes his neck back enough to eyeball Bucky before snuggling back against him and blushing. “Think a’ you a lot,” he mutters. “One of us ‘s gotta be the smart one.”

“Here I thought the one gettin’ himself beat up in alleyways every week would be the _stupid_ one,” Bucky teases gently.

“Creative, then.”

Bucky dips his head to nibble the back of Steve’s neck, making the smaller man shiver in a completely different way. “Guess I’ll have to work harder to keep up, yeah?” he murmurs against Steve’s skin.

Steve snorts softly. “If you’re the smart one then I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

“Already ahead a’ you, punk.” He fits their hands together and kisses Steve’s fingers. “I’ll show you later tonight,” he promises with a sly smile.

He can feel Steve’s lips curving into a smile of his own as he presses his own kiss to their entwined fingers. “You tryin’ t’ one-up me, Buck?”

“Nah.” Bucky settles more comfortably into their bed, inhaling the scent of clean sweat and sex and Steve. “Just wanna stay with you, Stevie. Right by your side.”


	7. Clothed Getting Off (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jesus, Mary, and Joseph. I finished one technically on time. Will wonders never cease?
> 
> -
> 
> Set during WWII, after Bucky is rescued.
> 
> Again, requests, comments, and kudos are all enjoyed and welcomed!

Steve loves Bucky. Loves him more than the sun and the stars and, God help him, his own country. He proved that to himself when he ran off on a one-man mission to save the brunet, standing orders be damned. So Steve knows he loves Bucky, but that doesn’t always means it’s romantic.

They’re in the middle of a war, after all, and depending on who you ask it either makes love more or less important. But finding what little happiness, pleasure, or even comfort where you can _when_ you can is something that everyone agrees on.

So that’s why romance steps aside in favor of fumbling in the dark, on days or nights when the Howlies are allowed out on an Allied town. They never say anything if Steve and Bucky disappear—after all, most of _them_ disappear at some point or another, usually with a willing dame on his arm. Just because the Howlies turn a blind eye doesn’t make it right with others, though, so they have to make do with what they can: dark alleyways, bombed-out shells of houses, even overgrown fields on the outskirts of smaller towns.

That’s why sometimes, even though Steve wants to give Bucky flowers and wine and a nice, warm bed, he has to find them both pleasure and comfort in only this:

Desperate, rushed kisses, heated and passionate; messy, teeth clicking artlessly together, tongues beating against each other as though through that single point of contact they can meld together into one. Hands, rough with callouses that snag on fabric, running frantically through each others’ hair, along necks and down arms, rucking up each others’ shirts in an effort to find that contact of skin on skin. One of them pinned against a wall, clinging to the other while they rut up against each other, all too aware of the possibility of not having a _later_ to do things ‘right.’ The only ‘right’ that matters is right now. Hearts beating wildly not just with passion, but with spikes of adrenaline when raucous laughter drifts from a bar or a street where others are walking.

The desperate, stifled moans and curses and endearments as they undulate against each other, fully hard, clamping down hard on needy whimpers and swallowing each others names. Someone inevitable sorts things out and sets the pace. It’s always quick—they always have to be quick—but sometimes it’s sweet, or punishing, or desperate, or defiant. They need to be able to spring away if caught like this in public, so they have to work through the regulation pants. It chafes some days, but getting to feel each other, even through layers of clothing between swollen flesh, is better than nothing. They tangle themselves and roll their hips together. Steve always flushes and Bucky always swears, and someone always ends up with a bruise when the final crack of pleasure whips over and around them both, making them cling even harder, swallowing each others’ cries as their mutual orgasms crash through their bodies.

It’s always a few minutes of trembling and deep breaths, after. Of helping each other look at least a semblance of decent. Bucky secretly likes to leave Steve’s hair ruffled, and Steve insists on Bucky keeping his shirt sleeves rolled up and the top few buttons undone, since most of the camp (think that they) know he’s a ladies’ man.

And sure, it can be an awkward (damp, sometimes chafing) walk before either can get changed, but when there might not be a tomorrow, the smile Steve gives Bucky whenever they part ways, timid but happy, or the way Bucky always looks at Steve tenderly as he comes down from his orgasm is romance enough.


	8. Dressed/Naked | Half-Naked (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I MIGHT have passed out early on Halloween, which makes me sound like I party but really just means I have a niece and poor choice in shoes. I apologize for this chapter being late. In good news, it's holiday-themed?
> 
> Requests, comments, and kudos all loved and appreciated! <3

Steve isn’t sure which of his friends he hates most.

He could go with Tony, who'd chosen to throw this stupid Halloween party in the first place. But it was hard to me too angry since all the proceeds from the door fee were going to several children's hospitals, one of which Steve had gotten to pick himself. So maybe not Tony.

It could be Clint, who'd had the bright idea to 'not have some boring PR shit again' and make the Halloween party a costume party instead of a black-tie affair. On the other hand, he'd had a point at the time. All of the Avengers, even Tony, were getting tired of endless galas and dress that involved shiny, non-combat versions of their most iconic gear or what Steve still regarded as monkey-suits. The vote had been unanimous. Perhaps not Clint.

He could choose Sam, who had called dibs on picking Steve's costume, as though Steve were four and incapable of dressing himself. Sam had pointed out that a lot had changed since the forties. Steve was acutely aware of that, thank you very much, but he had to admit that he didn't pay much attention to Halloween. They were usually busy because Green Goblin seemed to make it a personal mission to convert Halloween into Goblin Day-- something the criminal had _actually cackled_ one year and, as Clint said, if that didn't clue you in that Green Goblin was a psycho, nothing would. With him safely behind bars already, they'd actually get to celebrate Halloween this year. Steve _did_ have a vague idea of what costumes were like, but they'd never really had the extravagance of candy growing up and it seemed easier to let Sam handle things this time. He can only blame himself for Sam.

Which really makes this all Natasha’s fault. As soon as Sam had called dibs on Steve, Natasha pounced on a claim to Bucky. Maybe if Clint had been faster ( _Awww, Tasha, c’mon! You couldn’t just let me have that one? It was_ my _idea!_ ) Steve’s evening would be going differently. But no, Natasha had triumphantly declared that Bucky was going to be her pet project and that by the time she was done, even Steve wouldn’t recognize him. Doubtful, given that Steve seems to have a sixth sense for his lover, but the sentiment was there.

And maybe Natasha _had_ pulled it off after all, because Steve has been at this party all night and seen neither hide nor hair of Bucky. It’s not just the tedium of more schmoozing or pictures in his, frankly, embarrassing getup. Sam had declared that a ‘sexy nurse’ was timeless, and the resulting costume had Steve torn between outrage and embarrassment. He’d drawn the line at the skirt, stating that no nurse he’d ever met had worn something so restricting, and certainly not with fishnets. Sam had conceded the skirt after Pepper found out and lectured them on ‘becoming more like Tony every day’ but had forced Steve to wear the gloves and hat along with lipstick and rouge. Tony had taken one look and snapped a picture before cackling wildly and declaring that it would be all over the internet in mere seconds. Steve had turned pleadingly to Pepper, but the redhead had just pursed her lips and told him, “If there was anyone on the fence about coming, that picture will certainly bring them in. Just let me fix this makeup.” When Pepper was done, Sam admitted that, “I’m straight and even _I_ want to be your patient.” Steve still doesn’t know if they’re serious or teasing him.

So here he is, embarrassed, having his picture taken enough times that he _knows_ he’s going to see it in at least one paper tomorrow, and having more ladies try to touch him than he can remember since all those USO girls. And it’s not just females, either. Despite only a select few knowing he’s gay (technically bisexual or, if you want to be specific, Bucky-sexual) men have been sidling up to him all night. They’re less bold than the ladies, who try to cop a feel with alarming frequency, but it’s the men Steve are really worried about. Bucky has always been protective, but now that they’ve found each other again, Steve has learned that the other man can also get jealous. His reprogramming as the Winter Soldier stripped away most of his impulse control regarding violence and while he’d worked hard to get it in check, it is simply a fact of life now that sometimes touching Steve wrong can get your fingers broken. So Steve worries, but it seems to be in vain because Bucky just isn’t there.

Steve retreats to the bar for a drink. He doesn’t much care for the taste and he certainly can’t get drunk, but holding a glass and sipping from it is a great way to politely discourage conversation. He tries a ‘candy corn cocktail’ and grimaces at the sweetness. He’s pretty sure there’s more sugar in this than in the actual candy itself. But it’s colorful and he still can’t bring himself to waste anything, so he keeps sipping at it, especially when someone approaches that might want to talk.

He blames the sickly sweet taste (even more distracting than alcohol now) for not noticing who he’s hiding from _this_ time.

“Come here often, doll?”

The words are smooth as silk despite being pitched loud enough to be heard over the music and general thrum of people and background noise. Steve startles as a gloved hand enters his vision, gesturing casually for a couple of drinks. His eyes follow the line of the hand, up the arm of a well-tailored black pinstripe suit, across one broad shoulder and to Bucky’s grinning face. He’s wearing a fedora, a red vest and pocket kerchief, that amazingly tailored suit, and even spats. Steve doesn’t hear Bucky’s order. He’s too busy staring.

Unlike Steve, Bucky’s outfit lets him wear an old-fashioned leather gun holster with two revolvers. Knowing Bucky they’re real, but they gleam with a newness that might fool others into thinking they’re props. He’s grateful in a detached way that Natasha found something that would make Bucky feel more comfortable in a crowd; he never likes to be around people unarmed if he could help it. But what _really_ makes him stare is Bucky’s damn _hair_. He cut it. Or Natasha did. _Bucky let Natasha cut his fucking hair._ … And Steve _loves_ it. It’s much shorter than it was literally a few hours ago, but longer than he’d kept it back in the forties, even before the war. He has it slicked back under the hat, Steve can tell, and when Bucky actually removes his hat to set it on the table, a few strands fall free to hang loosely across his face. It’s all Steve can do not to reach out and tuck them away in full view of the public.

Bucky gives him a grin very much like his old gal-charmer and slides a greenish drink with what appears to be a tea strainer and sugar cube atop it over to him. “It’s absinthe. Swear it’s better’n the sugary shit you’re drinkin’. On me.” With a cheeky wink, Bucky pours cold water over Steve’s sugar cube and then his own before taking the strainers away with a flourish. “To the medical field. Looks like they can heal anythin’.” He raises his glass.

Steve lifts his eyebrows. “To strangers in bars,” he answers. “This better not be drugged.” He tips back his drink while Bucky laughs, loud and carefree, and that more than the alcohol warms Steve up from the inside out. The drink is herby and a little bitter, but it’s definitely better than the cocktail. He observes Bucky as the brunet lets the taste settle on his palate, eyes closed, before swallowing slowly. Steve can’t help but watch Bucky’s adam’s apple bob with the gesture, his chin tipped slightly up and to the side and exposing the long line of his neck like a work of art.

God, he wants to taste Bucky’s skin.

Bucky opens his eyes slowly, a grin growing across his face as he takes in Steve’s blown pupils and the flush slowly creeping up his cheeks. “Like it, doll?”

“There’s a lot to like,” Steve husks. And that has _Bucky’s_ eyes darkening with a predatorial gleam.

“Yeah?” He leans in as if whispering a secret. “Bet it’d taste better on your skin. Sweet as sugar, you are.” He smiles again as Steve makes a small, strangled noise in the back of this throat. “Five minutes. Take the west hall, second right and third door to your left.” Bucky picks up his drink and his hat, giving Steve a polite half-bow. “Have a nice night, Nurse Rogers.”

Bucky slips into the crowd easily and practically disappears. Steve sets a mental timer and sips the green drink—absinthe?—while he waits. Only a handful of seconds later, Natasha slides in beside him.

“I’m guessing you’ve seen James?” she asks with a sly smirk. It grows when Steve only makes a noncommittal noise. “The best dressed are always fashionably late. It took some coaxing to get him to cut his hair. I had to promise him I’d leave enough for someone to grab a handful.”

This time Steve almost chokes on his drink. He shoots Natasha a glare before discreetly checking to see if anyone heard.

“Happy Halloween, Steve. Hope you enjoy your treat.” How a woman in a bright red sequined dress and bold purple opera gloves can vanish so quickly Steve will never know. But her words definitely had an impact. The erection he’d been attempting to stave off threatens to make life distinctly awkward for him in the near future. He desperately thinks of anything but Bucky in that fucking suit with his fucking hair, cut just enough to remind Steve of the Bucky he grew up with but long enough for him to, as Natasha so sweetly pointed out, grab or card through his hands.

By the time he thinks he can stand without embarrassing himself, Steve realizes he lost count of how many minutes since Bucky left. He abandons his drink and makes his way to the west hall, extricating himself from potential conversations by giving the age-old, “Restroom, ma’am,” excuse. When he gets to the room—what seems to be some kind of powder room with a chaise and half-bath—it’s frustratingly empty.

Is he too early? Too late? If he stays away too long, his presence will be missed. It’s one of the down sides of being Captain America: people tend to notice when you vanish. He’s still debating on how long he should stay when the door opens behind him.

Before Steve can fully turn around, a firm, black-gloved hand seals itself over his mouth, the other one crawling across his hip until an arm is secure around his waist. “Shhhh. Gotta keep quiet, Stevie.”

Steve manages to glare at Bucky out of the corner of his eye. He suspects the look is ruined when he takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of leather, gun oil, metal, and something uniquely Bucky. It makes his mouth water, and his blood rushes south so fast that he’s surprised he doesn’t black out.

Bucky chuckles at Steve’s sharp inhale and slowly releases the other man’s mouth, assured for now of his silence. He uses that hand to slide down the blond’s body, caressing him while working the glove off his right hand. As soon as that one is free, he switches again, feeling Steve’s warm skin against his as he slips his flesh hand under Steve’s white costume top.

“B-Buck!” Steve stutters. Bucky’s hand keep wandering lower and lower, and Steve is acutely aware that Bucky never even closed the door. He bites off a cry as Bucky mouths along the back of his neck, though he can’t stop from reaching behind him with one hand, grabbing Bucky’s hair to pull him closer. It slips from his grasp sooner than he’s used to, and he can feel Bucky smile against his skin.

He’s not sure if he loves or hates Natasha for that.

“Somethin’ ya need, doll?” Bucky drawls. He yanks Steve’s collar to the side to place a sharp bite on his shoulder, making Steve arc against him.

“Door… door!” Steve manages to gasp. Bucky spins Steve and shoves him hard, sending the blond reeling back to trip over the chaise, sprawling on top of it. Before he can get his bearings, Bucky has closed and locked the door and is half on top of him again, showing his readiness by grinding his straining member into Steve’s. They groan simultaneously at the friction. Bucky grabs Steve’s wrists and pins them above his head, shaking them once, firmly, in a clear ‘keep them there’ motion. Steve obliges and grabs the arm of the chaise to prevent his hands from moving.

“That’s good, Stevie. So good…” Bucky’s breath ghosts against Steve’s face and they stare at each other for a moment before meeting in a bruising, graceless kiss. Steve whimpers into it, straining to press himself harder against the other man but unwilling to give up the addicting taste of him.

“That’s right,” Bucky murmurs between heated kisses. “Perfect, Stevie. You’re amazin’, doll.” Bucky rocks down against him, growling. “Makin’ everyone in there stare at you like that… rouged up and everything, lips ripe for a kiss. ‘M gonna kill Sam, puttin’ you on display like that when he knows you’re taken.”

Steve gasps as Bucky’s mouth starts moving steadily down his body, his hands stripping away the white top as he goes. He can feel Bucky’s teeth scrape against his collar bone before the brunet sucks a line of kisses down his chest. There’s a pause, and Steve holds his breath only to make a noise like it’s been punched out of him when Bucky takes one of his nipples roughly into his mouth.

Steve can hear himself babbling with absolutely zero brain to mouth filter, his words broken between dry sobs of pleasure as Bucky continues to nip and suck his nipples.

“He wanted to put me in a skirt. Short, it was so short, I couldn’t-- _ah!_ \-- I was too embarrassed and it was so tight…”

Bucky growls again, giving a particularly sharp bite that makes Steve clench his hands and cry out. “Good thing he didn’t get his way, or there’d’ve been a bloodbath,” the brunet growls. “Keepin’ yer perfect ass for myself.”

“Yes, _yes_ , Buck, yours,” Steve rambles desperately. “Sexy nurse, he said. Din’t wanna be sexy for no one but you-- _mmm!_ ” Steve almost bites his tongue when Bucky jerks his pants down just enough to reveal the tip of his erection, already so hard and beading with precum. Bucky swipes his tongue against the slit and hums, holding the beads of slick moisture in his mouth while he kisses Steve filthily, letting the blond taste himself on Bucky’s tongue.

“Just like I said: Sweet as sugar.” Steve can only watch dazedly while Bucky leans down and— _did he have his drink with him the whole time?_ \-- pours a thin line of absinthe down Steve’s chest. As soon as he’s done, Bucky starts to lap up the liquid, making pleased noises as though Steve truly is a delicacy to taste. His tongue swirls and rasps against Steve’s body, from the dip of his clavicle and down his chest, then carefully across his ribs where rivulets of the drink have run down his sides. Back again to lap at his navel, and everywhere the absinthe touched, everywhere Bucky’s mouth follows, tingles and burns hot and bright: sensitive trails that Bucky traces with his hands. Steve can’t stop panting and begging by turns. He’s straining against the elastic band of his pants now, so hard it hurts, but he’ll take it because Bucky is growling and muttering praise into his skin, prowling closer and closer to where Steve wants him the most.

Bucky doesn’t stop licking down Steve’s body, even when all the absinthe is gone. He keeps going until he has Steve’s cockhead in his mouth, and then he shoves Steve’s pants down just enough to swallow him down, making an obscene noise as he does. Steve grabs Bucky’s hair reflexively, but Bucky freezes and glares until Steve returns his hand to its former position. He keens as Bucky returns to his task, applying suction now and taking Steve deeper into his mouth with every bob of his head.

Bucky pulls off Steve’s dick with a wet noise when he hears the wooden arm of the chaise creak sharply under the blond’s grip. He presses kisses up and down Steve’s erection, lapping at it idly. He doesn’t want to break Stark’s furniture tonight, since his idea has given Bucky an image he knows he’ll dream about for a few weeks at least. Steve notices the change in pace and trembles under Bucky’s hands, begging.

“Please, _please_ , Buck. _Please_ , I… I…”

“What is it, doll?” Bucky stretches out to drape on top of his lover, prying one of Steve’s hands away to tangle their fingers together. Steve makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sob and grips Bucky tight. “What do you need?” He kisses under Steve’s jaw and behind his ear while the blond tries to string together a response.

“T-touch. I wanna… Wanna touch you, Buck. Feel you. Let me feel you, _please_ ,” Steve gasps.

“Okay, all right, I gotcha,” Bucky murmurs soothingly. He pulls back enough to give Steve space to work, loosening his tie and undoing the top button before his words seem to sink in and Steve attacks his clothes like they’re a personal offense to mankind. He thinks he hears a stitch pop as his jacket goes flying, and when Steve’s hands fumble at the buttons of Bucky’s vest, one button _definitely_ goes flying. His shirt gets away surprisingly unscathed, but Steve ignores the tie in favor of burying his face into Bucky’s chest with a happy sigh, his hands tracing along the brunet’s bones and shoving the shirt only partway down his arms so Steve can palm at his shoulders.

Bucky would never admit it, but the fact that Steve doesn’t care if he’s touching his right or left shoulder makes his heart melt. Steve always works his fingers across both carefully, as though mapping out every muscle and scar anew. When he’s done with this task, Steve slides his hands under Bucky’s shirt and rakes blunt fingernails down his back, making the brunet hiss with pleasure and return to his frenzied kissing.

He can feel Steve working open his fly and helps him with one hand, the other bracing him so Steve doesn’t bear his full weight. As soon as Bucky is freed, he sucks in a deep breath, the cool air in sharp contrast to the heat of his cock and Steve’s over-warm hand gripping him firmly. Bucky bites his lip and ruts against Steve’s hand, smearing precum over the blond’s hand.

Steve looks down between them and seems to snap. With a quick twist, He rolls them over so that Bucky hits the floor first, Steve now on top of him, and Bucky only has a second to draw breath back into his lungs before Steve grabs them both into his hand and _strokes_ , making Bucky shout and arch up into the blond. Bucky’s hands find Steve’s ass and try to drag him closer.

Steve is the one growling now, and he uses the precum he gathers to slick the way for his hand, tightening his grip as they slide against each other. Things quiet suddenly as they find their rhythm. Steve knows he’s done something right when Bucky’s fingers dig into his ass, and soon he has them back to moaning against each other with every stroke and twist of his hand. Bucky start to tremble under him and his movements grow less coordinated: a sure sign he’s close. He seems to be holding back, though, so Steve decides to make things easy on his lover.

He grabs a handful of Bucky’s hair and gives it a firm yank, forcing Bucky to expose the long line of his neck. Steve leans in and kisses down it, returning to nibble at a particular spot and making Bucky moan.

“C’mon Buck. I know you want to. Come for me?” He sucks a dark bruise at his chosen place on Bucky’s neck, never stilling in his ministrations, but it looks like Bucky wants to be stubborn. “I gotcha doll. Y’hear me? But I want you to _come_.” He bites down on Bucky’s neck hard, pinching skin and muscle tightly between his teeth, and then Bucky is shouting in his ear and shooting, white and hot, over Steve’s hand and between them. Feeling the vibration of Bucky’s scream under his lips, the heat splashing over his stomach and coating his hand, slicking his grip even more, forces Steve over his own edge. With a loud groan of Bucky’s name he comes between them, almost whiting out with the force of it but somehow still working them both through it until Bucky is whimpering with oversensitivity and Steve is completely spent.

They spend a minute or so catching their breaths and kissing idly, Steve still bracing himself above Bucky. He finally sighs and sits up, almost falling over again when he forgets that his pants are only barely down around his thighs. He uses his clean hand to fix himself up before finding a hand towel and cleaning himself, then rinsing it in warm water to bring to Bucky. 

Bucky feels boneless and happy, his scalp smarting in the best of ways and the dull pain of a bruise that’ll take a least a couple of hours to fade pulsing against his neck. Steve wipes him down and even tucks him away and fixes his slacks. When Steve goes to rinse out the towel again, Bucky sighs and heaves himself up, buttoning his shirt and looking around for his jacket.

He’s tucking in his shirt and frowning at the missing button on his vest when a thought strikes him.

“Steve, you said Sam wanted you to wear a _skirt_?” He’ll have to hide the missing button under the jacket somehow. He starts shrugging on the jacket. Steve is carefully straightening his own outfit and giving the evil eye to his smeared makeup in the mirror. Turning on the hot water with a huff, he finds a new hand towel and waits for the steam to billow up from the sink.

“Yeah. Skirt and fishnets. Kept tellin’ me it was ‘authentic.’ Never knew a nurse who wore something she couldn’t run in, and stockings were too hard to come by in the war. I remember Peggy almost knocked a fella’s teeth out for gettin’ a run in one a’ hers. Why?”

Bucky watches Steve remove his badly smudged makeup and smooths his hair back, stealing Steve’s cloth to expertly rid himself of lipstick. Steve, bless him, is actually adjusting the little white cap with a red cross on it so it sits straight on his head.

“Just wondering if he still has it. Might be interestin’. You know, when no one else is around.”

“ _Buck!_ ”

“What? Can’t blame a guy for wonderin’. Before you came and got me, I used to wonder what you’d look like as one a’ the British nurses, you know? Pretty as a picture, red lips on that pale skin a’ yours.” Steve blushes and hides his face in his hands. “You woulda made every gal there jealous.”

After a long pause, Steve’s body seems to deflate. “We used one of the guest rooms on the sixtieth floor,” he admits slowly. “I think we just left it all there when Pepper told us to stop bickering.” He switches the topic quickly. “So how about you? How’d Natasha get you to cut your hair? Blackmail? Threats? Did she give that look that makes you feel like you’re a kitten-killing, puppy-kicking monster?”

“None of those things, actually.” It’s Bucky’s turn to look embarrassed. “She just, uh, told me that maybe it would help if I had a few physical changes. To feel more like myself? She wanted to use the ones in the reels, but I’m just not that guy anymore…” 

Steve’s arms wrap around him reassuringly. “I know. And I love you no matter what version of _you_ you are: skirt-chaser, savin’ my skin or tryin’ to skin me and everything in between. I’m with you, Bucky, til the end of the line.”

“I know, Stevie, I do.” Bucky presses a chaste kiss to Steve’s lips to show him everything is okay. “Anyway, it took a while but I figured out something sort of… in between. That’s where I feel I’m at, right now. Sort of in between.” He runs his metal hand through his hair nervously. “Why, you don’t like it?” 

Steve grabs him by the chin to force him to look Steve in the eye. “Buck, I love it. You have no idea.” 

Bucky releases tension he didn’t even realize he was holding and adjusts his tie and pocket square. 

“I never asked what you’re supposed to be,” Steve says while Bucky checks to make sure the coast is clear. 

“Oh, me? Prohibition gangster or something like that. I tried to tell Tasha that was all over before we could really remember it, but she was dead set. Said it didn’t matter because we’re so old no one would think twice over it. I think she just wanted me to be as uncomfortable as her. But, hey, getup comes with weapons, so…” Bucky gives the hall anther visual sweep. 

“Okay, we’re clear.” 

“Good.” 

Steve shoves Bucky out the door first before closing it behind them. It takes effort now, but Steve can still pick up Bucky if he wants to, and right now he does. He hauls his best friend and lover into his arms and heads for the closest personal elevator. 

“JARVIS, my level, no stops please,” Steve requests. With an armful of rum runner he can’t really press the correct button. 

_:Certainly, Captain. Shall I put an emergency only lock on your floor until either you or the Sergeant choose to lift it?:_

“Yeah, good idea JARVIS. Thanks,” Bucky says with good humor. No more boring party and Steve in his bed? Sounds like a win to him. 

**BONUS SHORT**

Steve staggers downstairs to see the Avengers, minus Thor, Clint, and Bucky, crowded around something, breakfast temporarily forgotten. He grabs his orange juice before the whispers finally reel him in. 

“Oh my God, he’s so cute.” 

“Here’s one in _The Bugle_. Not a great shot, but it’s definitely him.” 

“Should have known this would go viral.” 

“Tony, this is completely your fault.” 

“Don’t show Barnes or we’ll never hear the end of it.” 

Bruce is the first one to look over and notice Steve leaning in for a closer look. They have a magazine, two newspapers, and the Starkpad pinging every time certain keywords are found. He has a sinking feeling about this, and it only intensifies when the others give him enough space to access any or all of the things at the table. 

And there, in one corner of the _Enquirer_ is a seriously incriminating picture of… Hawkeye. Well, The Amazing Hawkeye, if the crooked banner in the background can be believed. He’s dressed in the most atrocious amount of purple with a huge mask on his face and a very simplistic bow. Steve is still breathing a sigh of relief when Clint rounds a corner, a manic gleam in his eye. 

“I don’t know who it is, but I’m going to find the bastard who got me drunk enough to do this. I know it’s one of you guys ( _Tony_ ) and as soon as I get my hands on proof see if I don’t go digging up embarrassing pictures of you growing up.” 

“But Clint, you’re so fashionable! And adorable. I mean, you kept that suit this whole time?” Natasha’s voice is just this side of too innocent. 

“Okay, so I was a carnie. I was young and it kept me fed and warm, so I’m sentimental over my old rig. I don’t know why half the world needs to see it in full color!” 

Grumbling good-naturedly over the tabloids, Clint steals food from everyone else’s plates in revenge and pretends to sulk over his breakfast. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wondering, in my headcannon:  
> \- Natasha is Jessica Rabbit.  
> \- Steve is a combo male nurse/doctor but with tight-fitted pants.  
> \- Bucky is a prohibition gangster.  
> \- Tony went as Oberon.  
> \- Pepper went as Titania.  
> \- Sam went as a sexy cowboy (he’s not very original).  
> \- Clint started off the night as James Bond, but after Natasha and Tony drank him under the table and provoked him into showing off his skills, he wound up in his costume from the circus. In this case, it’s actually the REALLY OLD comic version of Hawkeye’s costume. I definitely prefer MCU’s sleek interpretation.  
> \- Bruce went as a sparkly vampire after Tony dumped body glitter all over him ‘by accident’ and ‘just happened’ to have an outfit in Bruce’s size just lying around.  
> \- Thor is off visiting his sweet Jane and probably watching Darcy get more drunk than Clint.


	9. Skype Sex (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I know I always seem to be a day behind. >_> My apologies. I'm working to catch up. Also, I barely Skype, much less Skype sex, so apologies in advance for that too! This one is set in modern AU, with everyone living in the Tower.
> 
> As always, requests, comments, and kudos are well loved! <3 You can request more than once, and even with something that already has a request on it so long as they don't conflict. I love having input. <3

Two weeks.

It's been two weeks since Steve went on his covert mission, and true to form it's been radio silence the whole time. Not that Bucky would ever begrudge Steve that. No, Steve was doing what he thought was best and what they both knew he was born to do: protect people. Bucky just wished protecting people could be done from the relative safety of their own home. Or, in this case, from Avengers Tower.

And he's under no illusions that Steve _needs_ him, or that the punk can't protect himself. It's just that Bucky has, does, and will always feel better if he's out there to watch Steve's back. No one can do it better than him. Hell, he's been doing it for longer than anyone else on the team has been alive. Unfortunately, one of the many side effects of being brainwashed and trying to kill your now-friends is that they tend to be a little cautious about sending you on extended covert ops like this one, even if you _are_ the best qualified. Not that he'll ever say that to Natasha.

He's moping. He knows he is. Even Tony's managed to notice it, although the genius's idea of cheering him up mostly involves being irritatingly chipper and forcing him to listen to nonsensical and sometimes prying chatter while tinkering with his arm. Bucky starts hiding from Tony about six days in.

Sam is a little nicer about it. He drops in every other day and asks Bucky out to do things like go to a new coffee shop or (for some reason) pottery classes. This stops about nine days in, after Bucky pointedly forces Sam to clean each and every plate in his left arm from the clay caking it.

It's actually Thor who gives him the idea, though he doubts Thor meant for it to be used in such a way. Eleven days in saw Bucky moping around the kitchen, where the god had been rummaging for food. Thor had taken one look at Bucky, grabbed whatever was closest (Corn Flakes), and sat down at the counter with him.

"You seem to be pining for our good Captain, friend Barnes," Thor observed, shoving a handful of cereal into his mouth.

Bucky grimaced. "Pining sounds so…" Pathetic, which he was. "…Melodramatic."

Thor frowned, chewing thoughtfully. Finally, his face lit up and Corn Flakes scattered across the table as he scrabbled for something under his cloak. Bucky was too well-trained to startle like a cat, as much as he wanted to. Instead, he flicked at stray flakes, ricocheting them into each other like pool balls.

"Aha!" Thor finally held up his prize with a pleased and expectant grin. It was a phone. Bucky knew what phones were. He had one.

"Thor," he started patiently, "I know what phones are. We even had them in the forties, even if they weren't this… small. And advanced. Steve's on a covert op, which means he can't even get calls until he's finished."

It was Thor's turn to give Bucky a patient look. "I am well aware of the restrictions surrounding our friends' mission. But look: My dearest Jane showed me a brilliant program that allows one to see each other, or even leave messages to be read once one returns."

Bucky thinks exasperatedly of texting, but instead Thor shows him a little blue icon with a large S in the center. He opens it up and frowns at it, shaking his head. Bucky goes to stand beside him curiously. There are different names with green, yellow, orange, and red dots beside them and pictures. He can see Thor quickly tap 'Darcy Lewis,' who has apparently sent him way too many Youtube links along with two missed calls and five missed video calls.

"See?" Thor says, gesturing with the phone. "I am now aware that Miss Lewis has attempted to contact me several times in the last…" They both peek at the timestamps. "…Hour." A long pause. "Perhaps I should contact her. It may be an emergency." Judging by the excess of adorable kittens in the message box, Bucky doubts it, but Thor looks so concerned that he doesn't bother to bring it up.

"Doesn't Steve need that program too?" he asks instead.

"Indeed. But the Man of Iron is very accommodating and has given us _all_ this program, along with one of enraged warrior birds who wage war against their swine foes. Please, excuse me while I contact Miss Lewis."

Thor takes the entire box of cereal as he sweeps from the room. Bucky takes out his own phone and flips through it more closely. He doesn't use it much, but sure enough there is an identical icon. He even has a picture of an angry-looking black cat and the name 'Cold Shoulder' on his profile. Tony. Figures.

*

Bucky finally caves at the twelve-day mark and sends Steve's contact (A picture of an apple pie and the name 'Mr America') a frowny face and the words, 'Why didn't anyone tell me about this thing? Thor knows more about phones than me.'

Later that night, he adds, 'I don't even think they have phones on Asgard.'

The next day, it's a picture of a sad kitten and the words, 'Know this thing has video?'

Over lunch: 'I like the idea of not having a creepy floating picture and a Brit talking to me the whole time.'

He tries to experiment with a video call with Thor and almost breaks his phone. He's forced to ask Sam for help, who promptly rolls his eyes and says, "What are you, in high school?" but helps anyway. Bucky learns how to block people, even if Tony keeps overriding it and sending him varying sad faces every time he reinstates the block.

He's wondering what he can send that won't be annoying when the phone starts buzzing in his hands. He manages not to crush it but has trouble figuring out what exactly to do. It's not a text and it's not a call. Finally, Sam's training kicks in and he manages to hit the video call button just before it ends.

Steve's face, tired and a little bruised, stares back at him. Bucky can feel a tingle like electricity spark from his fingertips to his toes. God he missed Steve.

"Hey, Buck. Got your messages. I had to get Clint to show me how to use… Skype, is it? He--" Steve's head turns to the side and Bucky can hear him grousing good-naturedly to what sounds like Clint laughing someone off-camera. He turns back. "He said it's 'cute' that we've discovered online dating." Even disheveled and exhausted, Steve looks adorable when he blushes.

"Does it count as online dating if we already date in person?" Bucky wonders.

Steve's end jostles violently and there is a loud protest before Clint's face pops into view, grinning from ear to ear. "What I _actually_ said was that it was cute that two _grandpas_ discovered how to date online. I did a charity gig at a geriatric community once. I know what you nonagenarians get up to." There's a faint sound of protest in the background, but Bucky only raises his eyebrows.

"What _do_ we get up to, Hawkeye?"

"Urgh, God, what _don't_ you? Part of the gig was handing out condoms, and no less than a dozen ladies that could've been my grandma told me they like it bareback. STDs are _not_ your friend. Man, now I need to take a shower just to scrub the creepy looks off my skin."

The phone changes hands until Steve is back on the video looking distinctly harassed. "It's been like that since last week." If Steve were a lesser man, he would be whining. "I really can't wait to get home."

"Speaking of which, I thought you were on radio silence?"

"Finished early. We're in friendly territory headed for a rendezvous. Then information exchange, debrief, and we can go home."

"They can keep Clint if they want," Bucky offers.

Steve chuckles. Somehow it's different, having Steve looking back at him from his phone and not a holo. Bucky can hold him in his hands, which is something that hasn't happened since before the serum. And he can decide exactly how much Steve gets to see just by tilting his screen one way or another. Maybe he likes this.

A feminine voice floats over, the words indistinguishable. Steve frowns off to the side before sighing and looking at Bucky sadly. "Gotta hang up and prep for the rendezvous. Tomorrow night, though, you have plans?"

"Aside from eating take-out? No."

Steve gives him a brilliant smile. "Great. I'll call around 2100 your time?"

Bucky wants to pout and tell Steve that if he can call he can damn well come home. But that's childish and, frankly, unrealistic. There are probably a lot of papers to be pushed and protocol to be observed before they all return to the Tower. So he pastes a smile on his face. "I'll be there, Stevie."

Steve's smile softens and he gets closer to his phone, blurring his image but letting him speak more quietly. "Love you."

Before Bucky can respond, the video cuts and Skype wants to know if he enjoyed the quality of his video call. A little over twenty-four hours. He can handle that.

*

2050 sees him curled up in their bed (technically Steve's bed, but they'd bought a king sized bed and replaced it with Steve's original) in the middle of mounds of pillows and heaps of sheets. No one but Steve really needs to know he's this insecure or that he misses Steve this much. This time he has a laptop that he made JARVIS swear up and down to temporarily block from even the Stark servers. Once learning the reason why, JARVIS agreed to give Bucky some privacy. He's waiting for the call so intently that it barely rings before he's stabbing at the accept button.

Steve looks a lot better this time. It looks like he's gotten a chance to clean up and rest some. The bruises on his face are gone, the worst of them mere suggestions. And… And…

And he's in a tub. A fucking bathtub, with what he can only assume is the phone propped up across from him if Steve's distance is anything to go by. His face is flush with heat and curls of steam rise into the air. Steve looks happy; relaxed.

Bucky goes from nervous to horny in 0.6 seconds flat.

"Hi, Buck," and _Jesus_ Steve's voice, laced with lazy pleasure, is like pure sex.

Even though he knows it won't get them physically closer, Bucky scrambles to pull his computer closer. "Stevie, you takin' a bath?"

"Uh… yeah, I…" Steve's ears go a little pink as he turns bashful. "It's the only time I've really gotten alone for a while, and I've been so worried about you that with the mission and all, Natasha told me I should go relax. Was extremely persistent, actually. But it feels… nice."

"Nice?"

"Mmm. Good." Steve's head falls back to show the pale column of his throat.

"Good?" What the fuck. Did Bucky turn into a parrot? Knowing that he's talking to a completely naked Steve has derailed his thoughts entirely. Steve _cannot_ get home fast enough.

"Yeah, good." Steve stretches a little, the warm water relaxing his muscles. "Miss you, though. Wish you were here with me. I bet we'd fit." He seems to regard the tub while Bucky's mouth goes dry. He thinks he's jealous of an overgrown porcelain basin.

"Hell yeah we'd fit," Bucky husks. And, oh!, look at that. When did his mouse crack? Must be a design flaw, gotta talk to Tony sometime when Steve isn't quite so naked.

"You okay, Buck?" Steve frowns with concern. He sits up and the water sloughs down his chest, level lowering until its tantalizingly close to Steve's hips. Bucky's breath hitches and his previously-loose sweatpants suddenly feel way too tight.

"Uh… yeah, it's just. You're hot. I mean _I'm_ hot." Smooth, Barnes. "I mean, it's hot in _here_ , in the room." Which is a damn lie because it's practically December and New York has already frozen over twice.

"Buck," Steve says slowly. "You're sure nothing's wrong? It was pretty cold when I left. Did you need to turn up the heat?"

Both Steve and Bucky have a bad habit of cranking up the heat when they're having nightmares. It disgruntles everyone else, but they always return it to normal once they stop shaking. Which mean Steve is concerned that Bucky is having nightmares, or anticipates them, and he might have before until he discovered that Steve was going to get on a video with him totally naked and dripping sensuously into the water.

They're both surprised when Bucky can only manage a moan of longing. Rolling with it, he lets one hand drift lower while he drinks in the sight of Steve. "How can I have nightmares when I got an angel starin' at me through this screen?" Maybe not his smoothest line, but he can almost see Steve piecing things together. A blush starts to spread through his whole body, and he instinctively lowers himself into the water again.

Bucky _whines_. "Stevie, c'mon. It's been past two weeks. I've been sleepin' on your side a' the bed I'm so fuckin' pathetic. Lemme see you, at least."

Steve regards the camera for a long time. Bucky waits with bated breath, one hand still palming his erection, when finally Steve hauls himself out of the water.

 _Mary Mother of God_ he's gorgeous. Bucky isn't the only one aroused by seeing his partner after so long. Bucky's eyes fall to Steve's dick and he can't help but moan again. He wants to wrap his lips around that perfect cock and hear Steve say his name in those little whines and whimpers he treasures so much. But he isn't there.

Maybe he can have something close. He leans back, shoving off his pants in a fluid motion, and he can see Steve's eyes track the motion on his screen, a darker flush creeping up the sides of his neck.

"You know I wanna be there with you, Steve."

"Yeah, I know."

"Know what I'd do if I were there?"

Steve can only shake his head minutely.

"I'd kneel right in front of you, right now, grab your ass and hips, and I'd swallow you straight down." Steve makes a punched-out sound and he's _definitely_ hard. "Go on, baby, pretend it's me. You'll need both hands 'cause I'd take you down all the way, let you choke me a little I'm so desperate for it."

Mesmerized, Steve does exactly as he's told, his eyes fluttering shut as he listens to his boyfriend's words. "I'd pull back, nice and firm, work you slow. Lick your slit, taste you… Taste yourself, Steve. Tell me what you taste like."

Steve's eyes are much darker now and he smears precum on his palm before licking at it delicately. Bucky moans at the sight and Steve moans with him.

"Stevie, baby, talk to me."

"Mmm. _Bucky_. It tastes… God, it's nothing like you. Not bad, but not you. Want you so much."

"Hm? What do you wanna do to me? Tell me. Don't stop stroking. When you get home I'm going to make you come with nothing but my mouth, nice and slow. But for now this'll have to do. You're bein' so good, Stevie. Talk to me."

Steve tries to keep his movements slow, but it looks difficult. It takes a few tries before he can talk. "I-I'd. I want to… to fuck you." Crass language is something Steve only uses when he's really in the moment, and using it now would make him blush if he wasn't bright red already. "Need to prep you first, though."

Bucky upsets the laptop when he lunges for their nightstand. He pops the lid off their bottle of lube, and the sharp noise makes Steve's eyes snap open, only to slide partially closed again when he sees Bucky warming the liquid in his hand. Bucky turns so his ass to the camera and waits expectantly.

It's like Steve can read his mind. "One finger first, real slow. Don't ever want to hurt you."

Bucky moans and circles at his own entrance, remembering how Steve, true to his word, always takes preparing Bucky seriously. Bucky isn't as patient, though, and plunges his own finger in, mewling at the first breach, working to loosen the tight ring of muscle. There's a moan from behind him, and Buck manages to brace his free arm so he can look upside down at the screen. Steve is riveted by the sight of Buck's entrance, by the lube shining on Bucky's fingers and the way his hole takes two digits greedily. Bucky moans like a whore, scissoring himself and straining to find that one spot he knows will make this even better.

"Yeah, Buck. Just like that," Steve encourages. By the faint background noise, Steve hasn’t stopped jerking himself off, although he's paying less attention to that than the picture Bucky makes for him. "Deeper, baby. Curl 'em up, I'd curl my middle finger and--" 

Steve's sentence is silenced by Bucky's surprised cry. You think he'd know how to pleasure himself properly, and he does, but it's nothing to the way Steve does. Steve knows him better than himself sometimes. Each way to pick him apart and put him back together, and especially how to make him feel good in every sense of the word.

There is an answering cry from the laptop speakers and Bucky greedily shoves three fingers into himself, stretching himself out even more. It's nothing compared to Steve, and it certainly doesn't fill him the same way, but without stopping to find one of the toys hidden around the room there's not much Bucky can do about it.

"God, you're getting loose, aren't you? For me."

Bucky nods feverishly. "Yes, yeah, for you, for my best fella. Can't wait to have you home, have you here, feel you," he babbles. His response is a drawn-out moan.

"Buck, turn around." Bucky whines, because he wants to keep doing this. If he only listens to Steve, it's almost like he's here. "Buck, look at me. I'm so close," Steve pants. "Wanna see your face."

Just _knowing_ that his lover is close pushes Bucky closer to his own edge. He turns around to face the monitor and goes back to fingering himself, finding Steve thrusting into his own tight fist. "Stevie," he pants. "Wanna see you come."

"'M close, Buck. You?"

"Yes, yes, _yes_ ," he chants. "Please, Stevie. Can't wait for this to be you. Wanna feel you in me, can't wait to have you back, been missin' you so damn much." He sobs. "Wanna make you feel good. Wanna feel good with you."

"Oh, Christ, _Bucky!_ " And Bucky's eyes snap to the screen because he can't miss this, the way Steve looks when his orgasm rips through him, thick ropes of cum shooting across his chest and over his hand; the way Steve doesn't let go right away but strokes softly, mimicking the way Bucky usually lets him go. He has to put a hand out to catch a wall so he doesn't fall unto the water.

Watching Steve lose control has Bucky harder than ever, _four_ fingers fucking himself now, but it's not enough. It's not _Steve_. Steve looks at the camera dead on, his blue eyes seeming to find Bucky's across hundreds, maybe thousands, of miles. "Touch yourself, baby." Steve's voice is firm and tender, fuck-out but still looking after his best guy. Bucky keens and takes in Steve's heated gaze before giving in, pressing his forehead to one of the pillows as he grabs himself, jerking in time to the thrust of his fingers. He can hear Steve murmuring over the line, praise and love and nonsense that's blotted out when Bucky finally comes with a shout, spilling onto the sheets, hips moving of their own accord until he's too sensitive to keep going. With another whine, he pulls his fingers out of himself and tilts his head to the side so he can see the screen again. Steve is giving him a happy, proud look, though it looks like he's lowered himself back into the tub, probably to keep from falling into it. 

Bucky's breath is still coming in sharp pants, but he smiles dopily at the screen. "Okay?" 

Steve laughs on the other end. "More than good. I'd suspect Tony of getting you up to this, but I know you and you would've resisted on principle if he suggested it." 

"Mmm," Bucky agrees. "Still prefer you at home." 

Steve's expression softens. "Gettin' there as soon as I can, Buck. Fourty-eight hours, we think. You good for that long?" 

"You mean what you said, before?" He waves a tacky hand in the air, grimacing as he realizes he'll need to clean not only himself but the sheets as well. 

"Every word." 

"Then I'm fine. But I'm holding you to all of that, Captain." Bucky smirks at the screen. 

Steve smiles back before crossing his heart in an exaggerated gesture. "I'm a man of my word, Sergeant." 


	10. Against a Wall (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this is late too! ;_;
> 
> I might have actually looked up wall sex for this. I hope no one ever gets into my browser history. This takes place in the same AU divergence as many other chapters, where Steve and Bucky are in a relationship, the Avengers all live together and more or less love each other, and everything is smiles and rainbows. Also, why do I even pretend there is a plot sometimes?
> 
> Multiple requests for the same prompt can be made. :) If they don't contradict each other, it could be fun to try and combine them! Requests, comments, and kudos keep me sane. <3

Bucky hasn't felt this giddy in… well, since he watched Steve's face light up the first time they'd kissed. But this is an entirely different kind of giddy. It's the high of endorphins and adrenaline mixing together in a heady cocktail that sings through his blood, and the swell of his heart when Steve stutters out his name and clutches him shamelessly, hands flying everywhere over the brunet's body like he'll fall apart if he doesn't touch Bucky everywhere _right now_.

The latest battle had been long and hard, and while the two men always watched each other's backs and had solid faith in their team, Steve's blatant disregard for his own well-being had surfaced once again. It was only a literal flying tackle by Tony that ended Steve's trajectory in water instead of hard concrete, and Steve hadn't even had his shield. Bucky's brain went offline for a second, blindly seeing Steve sink into the Potomac, mostly dead, Bucky's hands covered in blood… And the next thing he knew he was ramming into enemies left and right, leaving destruction in his wake as he watched Steve burst onto the shore and snatch up his shield, mostly unharmed.

The rest of the battle was a blur, but something about his expression must have tipped Steve off because as soon as he gave the all-clear he was hauling Bucky away from the worst of the wreckage and ripping their comms out of their ears, crowding them into the shelter of a building still under construction. He'd barely gotten a few words out before Bucky was kissing him stupid, and Steve had a moment of shock before he moaned, low and needy, and gone with it.

So here they are, wet (in Steve's care), dusty (in Bucky's case), and already rutting up against each other desperately. Bucky's half-out of his gear already and Steve's cowl is off, but the rest of his outfit is resisting all of Bucky's attempts at removal.

"God, Stevie, thought I lost you again," Bucky pants into the air between them. He needs to _know_ that Steve is alive in the most visceral way. "Can't do that; not again."

"'M here, Buck." Steve's breath stutters as Bucky sucks a line of hickies up the column of Steve's neck. "Not leavin'. Never, never."

" _Fuck_ who the hell designed this thing? You paint it on or something? Wanna feel you, baby. C'mon." 

Steve huffs a laugh that turns into a moan, and even through his desperation and frustration Bucky's lips curve into a smile. The blond finally pushes him away roughly and Bucky is torn between alarm and disappointment when Steve turns and braces himself against the wall. "Self-sealing," he pants. "Panel in the back. Peel it off is all." Bucky's head is still spinning, trying to process what Steve is telling him when the man himself grinds his ass against Bucky's crotch, making the brunet press back automatically, his hands going around Steve's waist. "Buck, _please_."

Bucky's fingers scrabble at the back of Steve's suit and he thinks he might be thanking God by the way that Steve chuckles when he finds a small seam that, sure enough, peels back when he pulls at it a certain way. He hungrily licks and nips at every inch of newly exposed skin, shoving the suit down as he goes and leaving Steve naked as the day he was born. Bucky's teeth scrape over the swell of Steve's ass, which makes the blond keen, loud and desperate, and start chanting his lover's name.

Bucky can't get out of his clothes fast enough. He doesn't even bother removing his concealed weapons; it's enough of a fight stripping out of his normal rig and he suddenly doesn't have _time_ for that. Spinning Steve back around, he presses in for a bruising kiss that leaves them both breathless. Bucky traces his fingers around Steve's lips, touch feather-light in contrast to the frenetic movement of their bodies. Steve's pupils are blown wide and Bucky can only guess his look the same, especially when Steve moans and takes Bucky's fingers into his mouth, tongue rolling around the digits and coating them liberally with saliva. It's really not the best lubricant, but it's what they have.

Still sucking greedily, Steve wraps one leg around Bucky's waist, anchoring it above his hip, and leans against the wall, a perfect picture of desire. " _Now_ , Buck, _please_ ," he begs.

And when has Bucky ever been able to deny Steve anything? He circles Steve's rim with his spit-slick fingers and breaches him carefully, but Steve isn't having any of it. He rocks his hips and takes Bucky's finger in as fast as he can, moaning his name the while time.

"More."

The second finger is a tighter fit, but Steve relishes the burn and he almost cries with relief when Bucky starts prepping him properly, massaging and stretching him open. He arcs with a silent cry when Bucky's fingers brush his prostate, and Bucky's awe-struck face as he does it again suggests he's looking at an angel.

Water mixes with sweat as Steve struggles to relax, to show Bucky with his body what he wants. He feels so damn lucky when the brunet, always attuned to his needs, adds a third finger and stretches him even more. Steve rotates his hips to help things along, breath coming harsh and muttering nonsense as he alternates between leaning his head back and closing his eyes and staring, wide-eyed and slightly unfocused, at Bucky.

"Now, now, 'm ready, so ready," Steve chants. Bucky growls and licks his palm, using it to spread his precum down his shaft. It might not be ideal, but this is the first time he's seen Steve quite this desperate and it's sparking something inside him too. If Steve swears he can take it, Bucky's not going to doubt him.

"Relax," Bucky murmurs. There's still a growl in his throat, but Steve clutches at his shoulders and takes a deep breath, exhaling shakily as Bucky slides carefully in. As soon as he bottoms out, though, it's like something snaps. Steve is quivering under him, his warm heat pressing all around, fingers in Bucky's hair and around the back of his neck, trying to draw him impossibly closer. When Bucky jerks his hips, Steve lets out a broken cry and moves, making another jumbled noise.

It's perfect.

Every time Bucky snaps his hips, Steve flexes to meet him and keens, Bucky nailing his prostate unerringly in this position. And every undulation of Steve's body forces his passage tighter, making Bucky spiral out of control faster than he wants. He'd be embarrassed if Steve's body wasn't already tensing and shaking all around him, a sure tell that he's close. 

Kissing him harshly, Bucky redoubles his efforts and swallows down Steve's scream and he comes in white-hot spurts between them, almost sobbing through his orgasm. His eyes glaze over as he stares into his lover's adoring gaze, and Bucky sees a flicker of determination before Steve rocks to meet his next thrust and _oh God he arcs and clamps down on Bucky's cock and it's too tight and perfect and--_

Bucky clamps his teeth into the crook of Steve's neck as he comes hard, muffling his own sounds as he fights his body's urge to white out with the sweep of pleasure. Steve's encouraging praises don't help, and Bucky has to tighten his grip on Steve's thigh, slamming his other hand into the wall to brace himself, keeping them both upright.

When the roaring in his ears clears, Bucky laps at the teeth-marks imprinted in Steve's skin, tasting the salty sweat gathered there. Steve sighs with satisfaction, wincing as Bucky slips out of him. They look around for something to clean up with, but come up empty-handed. Bucky just shrugs and rips a pocket off his pants and uses that to gently clean the blond. Steve lets him, still catching his breath and stealing kisses anywhere he can reach.

After he's determined that they're as clean as they're going to get, Bucky discards the scrap of cloth and pauses to admire his lover again. Steve gives him a dopey smile before stretching. Bucky can practically watch the blond switch back into 'Captain America Mode' as he privately refers to it. He rolls the suit back up his body with the ease of long practice and Bucky makes a mental note to experiment a little more when Steve manages to reach behind himself before Bucky can even offer, pinching the seam and rolling his muscles gracefully so the fabric seals against itself. Another couple pinches towards his upper spine and the suit is on. Bucky can't help but admire his lover's grace. In comparison, Bucky feels at best efficient in the way he arms himself again, snapping together armor and harnesses, automatically double-checking the position of his weapons.

Finally, Steve kisses Bucky again, slow and sweet this time, and picks up their earpieces, handing Bucky's over as he places his own.

_'…not be dying somewhere because, seriously, someone's going to blame me; I can just feel it. Cap? Barnes? Seriously. Answer. Don't make me--"_

Steve sighs and shakes his head, looking sheepish even though only Bucky is there to see it. "We're okay, Iron Man. Just had to, uh…"

"Perimeter sweep," Bucky cuts in smoothly. "Saw something suspicious and went to clear it."

There's a long pause.

_'And you were unresponsive for the last half hour because…?'_

Steve goes bright red and Bucky grins, letting the silence stretch on.

_"…You know what? I changed my mind. I don't want to know. Just get your geriatric asses back here as soon as you finish your 'perimeter sweep.'"_

"Nothing wrong with Cap's ass, you know. I checked."

" _BUCK!_ " Steve, on his way out of the warehouse, trips over his own feet in surprise.

 _"Oh, God, I can't unhear it,"_ comes Clint's voice.

Bucky smirks and swats Steve's ass as he passes him, earning a surprised and indignant yelp. "C'mon, Cap. Don't wanna miss out on all the _fun_."


	11. Doggy Style (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working hard to catch up. I CAN TOTALLY DO THIS. ONE THIRD DONE.
> 
> …Right?
> 
> Still in my warm bubble canon divergent AU. Trying to actually do short PWP for once. We'll see how that pans out.
> 
> Comments and kudos are precious treasures. <3

Steve loves it, he _fucking loves_ the way that Bucky is big enough again to hold him down if he wants to, to give the illusion that Steve is small again, still taking the brunet beautifully with his knees digging into the covers and his hands played, one coming to muffle his own noises out of habit, even though it doesn't matter if he's loud anymore; doesn't matter if someone hears how much he _loves_ being taken apart so thoroughly by Bucky.

Some things are different. The lube is much better than vaseline, and Steve doesn't fear going into an asthma attack if Bucky drives in too hard, pumping into him from behind with sharp snaps of his hips and nailing Steve's prostate again and again. Their rooms are soundproofed enough for noise to not matter, not much, and even if someone overheard well, it wasn't illegal anymore was it? While Steve retains the habit of biting at pillows or his own hands, Bucky has lost his inhibitions and it's _beautiful_ the way Steve's name falls from his lips like a prayer, letting Steve know that _he_ is the reason for Bucky's moans and little growls; his shudders of pleasure and the praises that occasionally tumble from his lips.

But some things are still the same, like the way Bucky helps him tilt his hips to just the right angle, bracing him with one arm while the other roams the expanse of Steve's back, gripping his shoulder, his hair, and returning to his hip in an endless loop. The full feeling of Bucky sliding into him, warm and large. The way Steve is so torn in this position; he wants to see Bucky, he always wants to see Bucky, but being on his hands and knees prevents him from stealing more than the occasional glance, each peek more erotic than the last as his lover slowly unravels. The bolts of pleasure that spark up his spine, pulling him into himself and building slowly, each on top of the last, until Steve feels numb to anything but the feeling of him and Bucky and the lighting in his nerves.

The way Bucky can sense every little one of Steve's tells, increasing his own tempo and reaching around to grasp Steve in his hand, pumping in time to his thrusts, Steve rocking from the pleasure of his lover's cock to that of his hands, head spinning until he has to bury his face into the mattress and cry out brokenly, coming in thick streams while Bucky fucks him through it, moving until his own hips stutter and he comes. This is the only time he's quiet, and the only thing that falls from his lips is a reverent gasp of Steve's name before his pleasure explodes through his body and it's Steve's turn to help him through it, uncaring of his own overstimulation.

Using a condom still doesn't change, since it always makes for easier cleanup. And the aching empty feeling when Bucky slides out of him still lingers, but it's always okay because as soon as he can, Bucky is shuffling them to a cleaner part of the bed and turning Steve to kiss him hungrily for a few minutes, as though making up for the kisses he missed.

It's still the same, the sighing contentment Steve feels when Bucky presses his last few kisses into the palms of Steve's hands, and then into his hair, breathing deep like if he does it enough he can breathe only Steve, forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The shortest I've managed yet! Why am I so wordy...?


	12. D/S (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I'm terrible at keeping up. I will hopefully be completely caught up by tonight. I blame Doctor Strange on this one being late.
> 
> Canon divergent where everything is awesome and everyone lives at the Tower. <3
> 
> Thank you for the comments and kudos! It lights up my day any time I see one. Also I realized that I don't have a fetish or kink that isn't already on the list for the upcoming open slot. Ideas? Arm kink maybe? @_@ 
> 
> Requests, comments, and kudos still welcome!

It started by accident, when Bucky’s bossiness in bed reached a new high. He’d called Steve his ‘good boy’ and pulled on his hair this shade of too hard, and told him to come _now_. To both their surprise, Steve came long and hard, whining helplessly in Bucky’s grasp. After, he’d been incoherent and unresponsive, eyes barely focusing as Bucky had a quiet crisis. He treated it similar to shock—the closest thing he could identify and treat—and kept himself together for as long as Steve needed him. Steve started to respond properly around fifteen minutes later and promptly burst into tears. Bucky could have cried too, caught between relief and worry. It wasn’t until JARVIS spoke up in response to their distress that Bucky even remembered the AI was there. He took the AI’s advice and, after Steve was safely asleep, gave in to the urge to have an emotional breakdown.

They asked JARVIS about it later, Steve red in the face despite multiple assurances that JARVIS was programmed to retain their wishes for privacy unless it would harm the other Avengers or themselves… Not unlike a therapist, Bucky thought. He didn’t much care where he got the necessary information from as long as it was reliable, and JARVIS assured him that his was. The AI had no reason to lie, and a little furtive research in a specialty sex shop confirmed enough of the information given to them that Bucky just finished his research through JARVIS from the comfort of his own room.

Steve had experienced subspace and an accompanying subdrop. Bucky’s first assessment of shock wasn’t too far off, and his initial shame at ‘pushing Steve too far’ as he kept saying (despite Steve’s rebuttal that neither of them could have known it would happen, and he’d actually enjoyed it) was something born more of ignorance than some kind of depravity or deviation.

So Bucky learned how to be a good Dom, and Steve how to be a good Sub. And Steve was really, _really_ good at subbing. He trusted Bucky implicitly, used their safeword when he needed to and, after a few abortive (blushing and stuttering) tries, always brought up something new he was interested in trying. Even if it was indirect, like the time Bucky found a spreader bar lying across Steve’s half of the bed after a sparring session. That had been a good night. Bucky worried he wasn’t as good a Dom, but Steve always practically glowed after every scene, so he figured he couldn’t be too bad. And he _loved_ being a Dom. It gave him a semblance of control he’d lost when living as the Asset while returning to him the feeling of taking care of his Stevie again, like he had before the war. He was trusted to hold Steve’s happiness and well-being in his hands, and he’d rather die before he abused that trust. Every smile Steve gave him made his heart swell in knowing he could still do something good; something just for them; for Steve.

And that’s why, one Tuesday night, Bucky comes home from a short mission to find Steve wearing only a collar and kneeling, head down, waiting patiently by their bed.

It’s the first thing Bucky sees when he opens the bedroom door and he’s _really_ glad now that he passed on Natasha’s offer to go out to a bar because this is so much better. The sight makes him achingly hard and brings a growl to his lips. He has to steady himself before he approaches to take Steve’s chin firmly in his hand, tilting the blond’s head up. Steve keeps his eyes downcast, but Bucky can still see that even this simple touch as him aroused. Steve’s skin is slightly cool to the touch, and Bucky wonders how long he’s been waiting like this. An hour at least. Nearly eight if he had nothing beyond standard training today. The thought of Steve waiting patiently like this for hours on end, waiting for Bucky to come home, makes him growl again. He watches Steve shiver at the sound, an answering whine rising in his throat.

Bucky toes off his shoes and socks while he talks, shoving them with his foot to rest under the bed.

“How long have you been waiting for me, Stevie?” His voice is already dark and heavy, turning the question into a demand.

“Three hours… sir,” Steve murmurs. Bucky sees him glance up, a quick flitting of his eye to gauge Bucky’s reaction, so Bucky rewards him with a filthy kiss that makes them both moan.

“Good boy,” he murmurs. He strips off his shirt, part of his mind already planning what he wants to do. Steve has assembled a few things, but he loves it when Bucky adds his own flair. “Safe word?”

“Hydra.”

“Excellent.” He pets Steve’s head absently. The blindfold and bondage rope are invitingly ready. Bucky makes up his mind and moves to the drawer reserved for exactly this kind of thing. Steve doesn’t move while Bucky picks out a few items: one of their larger vibrators, double-clipped leashes, and a silk scarf. For a moment he hovers over a candle but decides against it. He wants things to be simple tonight. He walks over to bed and moves two innocuous pictures, revealing the heavy rings installed into their wall. Bucky clips one end of a leash to each ring and gestures to Steve. He knows the other man can’t see it, but it helps Bucky settle into his role.

“Come here.”

Sighing with happiness at the order, Steve slinks his way up the bed. The brunet can’t help but admire the way he moves, all sleek muscle and grace. When Steve is positioned obediently in the middle of the bed and facing the wall, Bucky clips the leashes onto his collar. It drastically limits the blond’s movements. Steve could break free if he wanted to—the clips might be sturdy but they’re nothing against super soldier strength—but that’s not the point. They both know Steve will safeword before he taxes his restraints past normal human range in order to keep the illusion intact.

Bucky presses a kiss to the side of Steve’s head and licks the shell of his ear, murmuring “Good boy,” before slipping the blindfold on him. He readies the rope as Steve adjusts. “Arms behind your back.”

He wrangles Steve’s arms into the position he wants—nothing fancy, just his arms parallel, hands holding the opposite elbow—before looping the rope into place. He changes his mind and turns the excess into a makeshift harness, testing the tension carefully.

“Is this okay? Not too tight?”

Steve is already breathing hard, savoring the feel of the silky rope against his skin. “It’s fine, sir.”

“Color?”

“Green.”

Bucky hums his approval. “Good. I’m going to gag you now, pet. Be nice and quiet and I’ll give you exactly what you want.” He punctuates this by pressing his swelling erection against Steve’s back. “If you’re bad, this all stops and I’ll leave you here and take care of myself. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”

Steve opens his mouth to answer but catches himself. Closing his mouth with a snap, he nods his head and then shakes it: Yes, he wants the gag; No, he doesn’t want Bucky to take care of himself.

“Perfect,” Bucky praises. He slips the scarf between Steve’s teeth and ties it behind his head. It’ll muffle the other man, but unless he hits subspace it’s easy enough to slip out of with a few strategic twists of the head. Even with the leashes on, Steve could remove it if he tried. “Perfect,” Bucky repeats. He wishes he were ballsy enough to take a picture with his phone because his Stevie always looks so pretty like this, naked and trusting and wearing Bucky’s handiwork. He looks even better debauched and hazy with pleasure. But Bucky knows that both Clint and Tony have a tendency to scroll through the others’ phones if you leave them unattended for even a moment, and sometimes even if you’re holding them. After almost getting eviscerated by a stiletto (the shoe, not the knife), Tony and Clint avoid Natasha’s phone like the plague, so she’s the only one safe in the Tower. Bucky doesn’t want Steve to die of mortification, so he commits these pictures to memory instead.

When Steve looks like he’s adjusted to the restraints, Bucky grabs a fistful of blond hair and shoves it down until Steve’s collar prevents him going further. He can hear the change in breathing; the slight restriction from the leather pressing against Steve’s throat. He keeps his hand bunched into Steve’s hair, tightening his grip. “Up on your knees.” When Steve instinctively tries to lift his head to balance, Bucky forces it down harder. “Keep your head _down_.”

Steve swallows hard and nods, using his core to compensate instead as he raises his ass into the air, adding a wanton display of spreading his legs wider. Bucky’s cock starts to ache, still trapped in his pants, but he ignores it for now. He silently opens the lube and spreads some on his fingers, enough to coat them but not long enough to warm it. He trails one slick finger down Steve’s lower back and between the crack in his ass before suddenly shoving two fingers into his waiting hole. Steve’s entire body jerks in shock and Bucky has to force his head down again. Steve whines into his gag.

Bucks tuts under his breath. “Already breaking the rules, pet? We barely got started.” He fills his voice with disappointment. Steve seems to realize his mistake because he starts shaking his head, breath shuddering in an almost-sob of desperation. Bucky continues to pump his fingers in and out of Steve, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

“I’m in a good mood. That one was free. But if you make another mistake…”

Steve nods his understanding.

“Good boy. I’m glad that you know what you did wrong, but you do need _some_ punishment.” 

Without warning, Bucky slips his fingers out of Steve and lands a stinging slap across one butt cheek and then the other, shoving his fingers back in just as the blond registers the blooming pain. Bucky will only use his flesh hand for slapping so the crack of skin on skin is loud and lewd and wet. Steve spasms and chokes on a groan of pleasure, fighting to keep quiet. Bucky rewards him by adding a third finger before Steve can fully adjust, keeping the burn fresh and stretching him open. Bucky can see Steve’s hands spasm under the rope; the tension from biting the gag. But he stays quiet as ordered.

As soon as he thinks Steve can take it, Bucky moves on to the vibrator. He leaves Steve swallowing down whines and bucking his hips into the air while his master slicks up the toy with lube, leaving the bed for a moment to remove his pants. He smiles to himself, staying away just long enough so that he _knows_ Steve is wondering what he did wrong before he strokes up Steve’s back from behind, using his cool metal hand against the furnace of Steve’s body. He palms the blond’s shoulders and drapes himself across his back so Steve can feel that Bucky’s naked, aching need against him. He grips Steve’s chin with more force than necessary, giving him a little shake before peppering kisses across his shoulders and sliding back down. He places the vibrator on top of his metal hand and flicks the setting to low, causing it to hum to life, the buzzing going through the metal and sinking into Steve’s skin. For the second time Steve startles, but this time he breathes hard through his nose instead of whimpering.

Bucky strokes down Steve’s leg in praise, the vibrator still humming in one hand. He traces Steve’s hole with the tip of the vibrator, watching the muscle quiver in anticipation. He presses just enough to tease the blond, and Steve moves his hips in an attempt to take in the toy. The action makes him pull against the leashes, putting pressure on his throat, but he doesn’t top. Bucky can only chuckle.

“Greedy, are we?” Steve nods, his skin already misting with sweat. “Well, greedy things get what they deserve.” In one motion Bucky breaches Steve and shoves the toy as far as it can safely go, dialing the vibration up to maximum. Steve’s reaction is immediate; his body jerks like he’s been electrocuted and his chest shudders and heaves with soundless sobs. The restraints snap in the other direction as Steve rears back. He still doesn’t make a sound, but his heaving breaths start to strain the makeshift harness. Bucky immediately dials down the vibrator and slips down the gag. Steve whines at the loss, but Bucky has to check in. “Color?”

For a moment Steve’s mouth moves but no sound comes out. Did he go into subspace already? But before Bucky can remove anything else, Steve croaks out, “Green, sir. Green,” and opens his mouth for the gag. 

Reassured, Bucky re-settles the gag and grips Steve’s hair in praise before reaching back and setting the vibrator to its highest level. He watches with satisfaction as Steve tries to both maintain his position and rock into a pressure that isn’t there, shaking his head and muffling noises of helplessness and frustration that bleed into those of pleasure.

Bucky plucks idly at the center of the rope harness. “Don’t come until I tell you to. I want that to be _mine_. Do you understand?” At Steve’s nod, Bucky grabs the center harness to hold him still and fucks Steve with the toy. He’s relentless, nailing Steve’s prostate and even slipping in an extra finger, watching Steve’s cock swell and drip precum. Not all of the shaking comes from the vibrator anymore. Steve fights his own body for control, staving off an orgasm that Bucky is practically forcing from him in an effort to obey his commands. Bucky plays with the tempo, flipping through the toy’s settings and fucking Steve fast or slow, at different angles, dropping praise when he hears the half-noises Steve swallows in an effort to keep quiet. He wants to torment Steve a while longer, but he has his own problem to deal with.

Lowering the settings, Bucky carefully positions himself and drapes along Steve’s back, using his arms to trail down the expanse of pale skin. “You should see what you’re doing to me, doll,” Bucky murmurs next to Steve’s ear. Steve’s body quivers and tenses in anticipation. “I’m so fucking hard right now; I know you can feel it. So hard for my good boy.” Bucky can feel the gentle buzz through Steve’s body and he rocks between Steve’s asscheeks in a mimicry of what he knows Steve wants. “Gonna come on you and, if you’re still good, _in_ you too. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? To ride my cock, feel me fill you up?” Steve nods. “Mmmm. But you won’t come before I say you can. You know why?” Steve knows the answer, but he shakes his head because he wants to hear Bucky say it. “Because your pleasure belongs to me. I know what you need and when. Because you _belong to me_.” Bucky always has a hard time saying the last sentence without letting love soften his voice. It never matters, though. They both love to hear it in the open, hovering between them, and if Steve had been allowed to speak Bucky knows he would have echoed the sentiment. As it is, Steve turns his head slightly, seeking assurance, and Bucky presses a kiss at the base of his neck.

He slides back but keeps his cock between Steve’s cheeks, turning up the vibrator just one notch and using one hand to circle himself as he rocks back and forth on top of Steve. His other hand trails down to toy with Steve’s shift, feather-light touches teasing what he knows has to be extremely sensitive flesh. The vibrator stimulates Bucky as he thrusts leisurely: a pleasant hum that edges him closer to release. He speeds up a little, swiping his fingers over his cockhead and groaning long and deep, Steve’s name on his lips. Subconsciously, his free hand loosely jacks Steve at the same pace as Bucky’s increasingly erratic thrusts.

Bucky comes with a shout, his seed spilling across Steve’s back as far up as his bound arms. Steve whines low in this throat, thrusting blindly, and Bucky belatedly strengthens his grip at the base of Steve’s cock until Steve gives a full-body shudder and twitches, his orgasm brushing past but not quite taking him. Even more precum drips onto the bed, and Steve goes lax, only his collar holding up his head. Concerned, Bucky removes Steve’s gag and blindfold.

“Color?”

Steve’s eyes are glassy and unfocused and he fails to respond.

“Stevie, doll, can you tell me your color?”

It takes him a long time to focus, but he finally manages to slur out, “Green.”

Not willing to risk Steve choking for real if he slips fully into subspace, Bucky changes his plans. He removes the gag completely and unhooks the collar from the restraints. His hands trace soothing lines down Steve’s flank, praise coming fast and easy.

“You’re doing so good, Stevie. Made me come; know you can feel it. Made me feel so good, doll. You’re my good boy.” He turns off the toy but leaves it in as he lowers Steve’s head to the mattress, turning his face slightly so he can still breathe. “Good boy. Following my orders like that; I’m going to give you exactly what you need."

He works the toy in and out of Steve’s body slowly, loosening him up even more and buying himself time to stroke himself to fullness. Being a supersoldier comes with all kinds of unexpected bonuses, and a short refractory period is definitely one of them.

Bucky works the toy out of Steve’s body carefully and coats his hand in more lube, slicking himself up and using the rest to trace the loose-fluttering muscles of Steve’s hole, making the blond moan. Bucky lines himself up and slides home in one smooth movement, using Steve’s harness to steady them both.

 _God_ he missed this. Steve is still tight and perfect around him, silky-warm and Bucky just wants to stay here forever. But it’s not just about him, so after a few shaky breaths he forces himself to move. Shallow at first, little rotations of his hips that cause Steve to make occasional fucked-out sounds under him. Then he tightens his grip on the harness and starts to thrust in earnest, precise and firm but not quite brutal. And it’s a good thing that Steve is already worked up because even though he just came, the sight of his cum on Steve’s perfect skin and the dark rope containing his pet, and the low keening noise Steve makes punctuated only by Bucky’s increasing thrusts… It’s enough to rile Bucky up again despite coming only minutes ago. It would be embarrassing if Steve wasn’t so fucking _hot_.

When Steve’s keening gets louder, more needy, Bucky picks up his pace and fucks him in earnest, uttering nonsense in what he hopes is a soothing way. 

“Oh, God, Stevie. So-- _ah!_ \-- so good. You are. _Jesus_. Beautiful. Love you. Love you, love you, love you—C’mon, Stevie, come for me. Come with me. Stevie, it’s okay, do it now.” Steve keens louder but his body doesn’t seem to want to comply. Bucky drops his voice a register and leans in, still moving inside his lover. His voice is velvet over steel: the voice of a master. “Steve. _Come_.” And he does.

Steve’s body tenses and locks up with pleasure, mouth going slack, one long moan drawn from his body as his orgasm overtakes him, sending him even deeper into subspace as his cum paints the sheets and his chest. His channel tightens; clamps down like a vice around Bucky and blindsiding him with his own climax, his hands tightening reflexively as his ears roar and stars explode across his vision. He fills Steve just as he promised, enough that some of his cum drips out with Bucky still shuddering inside of his lover. He pulls out with a pang of regret: he would have liked to stay there longer, but Steve will need him soon.

He tugs at a few strategic locations and the harness unravels. Bucky efficiently coils the rope and makes sure Steve is situated on his back, away from the mess. He murmurs encouragement and praise while he removes Steve’s collar and tucks away their gear before running to the bathroom to get hot, damp washcloths. He cleans himself up with one and Steve with the others, eyeing him for early signs of a drop. Pulling a plush robe off its hanger, he comes to stroke Steve’s chest and arms, kissing him again and again.

“Come on, baby. Come back to me now. You did so well. You were my good boy. I love you so much, Stevie. Come back.” He keeps up the reassuring tone until Steve gives him a sleepy look, eyes slowly focusing.

“Buck?”

Bucky smiles down at him. “Yeah, Stevie. You did so well. I’m proud of you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He kisses him, soft and sweet. “You think you can sit up for me? I have your favorite robe, and you need to drink something.”

Steve, still sluggish, blinks at the robe. He says what he always does at this stage: “It’s not my favorite, Buck. I just—”

“—like the color; I know.” The robe in question was a gag gift from Clint, who would probably be horrified to know what use its been put to. It’s dark blue with little stars on it (“Like the American flag, get it?” “Yes, Clint, I think we all understood that even without your big mouth.”) and no matter what he says, it’s Steve’s favorite robe.

Bucky helps wrestle Steve into the robe before giving him a bottle of water, watching carefully while he drains most of it in one go. Bucky fishes in their nightstand for a bar of chocolate and slides in beside Steve, leaning against the headboard and drawing the blond into his arms. He feeds his lover by carefully breaking off pieces with his teeth, lowering each sliver so that Steve can easily slip it from Bucky’s lips to his. It never fails to pink Steve’s cheeks, and Bucky adores the intimate feeling of feeding him. Plus he knows for sure that Steve gets enough in his body to stave off a crash.

“You want a bath?” Bucky asks between bites. He hands the water bottle over.

Steve makes a face but takes a few more sips. He nuzzles into the crook of Bucky neck and sighs. “No. I just want this. Maybe later?”

“All right.” Bucky feeds him another piece of chocolate, finishing off the bar. He’d ask if Steve wants to sleep, but he almost never does after a scene. He prefers to stay awake and close to Bucky, so the brunet just settles them both into a more comfortable position and asks JARVIS to play something random on low volume.

Steve wraps an arm around Bucky’s waist and the brunet covers that arm with his own. They ignore the background noise in favor of lazy kisses and later there’s a hot bath and cuddling under fresh blankets.

Bucky wishes there was such thing as a camera for the heart, because as he keeps a comforting arm around Steve’s middle, his own heart glows with love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to look up types of gag before deciding on a simple one. I should probably scrub my browser history soon. >_>
> 
> Please be responsible when you have sex. Use condoms and get yourself tested regularly. Keep good practice and do your homework before trying any d/s or BDSM scenes, and remember to communicate with your partner. Have fun! This has been a PSA from Lecroix Publishing.


	13. Anal Fingering (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m getting there! Thank you for your comments and support so far! <3 This one is Pre-Serum!Steve. Excuse the irony of the tone of this one directly after the previous chapter. XD
> 
> Seriously, though, kink ideas? Comments, kudos, requests all welcomed!

Bucky’s glad he’s not particularly religious, because by all means what he’s doing to Steve should leave him blind. Then again, having this image seared into his brain as the last thing he ever sees wouldn’t be too bad.

Steve, all airy lightness and pale skin, lays with his legs spread wantonly, breaths shuddering as he tries to control his own body. Bucky’s already worked in two fingers and gently rocks them in and out, stretching the ring of muscle every few thrusts. Steve whines every so often, an angelic sound kiting on precious puffs of air.

This is the closest Bucky can get to being in Steve. He hates it and loves it all at once. He wants to do more; knows that Steve wants to _give_ him more, but the one time they’d tried it, no matter how prepared he’d gotten him, Steve simply couldn’t take Bucky. The effort alone sent him into an asthma attack and he’d been sore for days. Being (pig-headed, stupidly determined) Steve, the blond had tried to insist they try again. Bucky wouldn’t hear of it. He might want all manner of things from his friend and lover, but pain wasn’t one of them. At the same time, Bucky is glad he can still have _some_ part of Steve; can whisper to him darkly, imagining his cock where his fingers slide in and out, filling Steve as much as he can without hurting him. He has this much, and he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Steve starts to rock back onto Bucky’s fingers, body demanding more. Bucky smirks and slows down just so he can watch Steve’s eyes snap open to pin him with as close to a glare as the blond can muster.

“Bucky…”

He slows even more, making Steve shove himself down harder, seeking fullness. “Steve?”

“You—” Bucky shoves his fingers in harder and crooks them, making Steve choke on his own words and bow his back with pleasure. Bucky relents quickly. “You jerk,” Steve pants. “You’re doin’ that on purpose.”

“Doin’ what?” Bucky’s face is the picture of innocence as he resumes his slow but steady pace.

“’M not made a’ glass, Buck.”

Bucky would disagree. He’s seen lots of different kinds of glass, every piece wonderful in its own right. The most fragile ones are always the most beautiful, though: Delicate creations as much air as they are matter, almost glowing from within and having much more presence than substance. It describes Steve perfectly. He won’t say it though; won’t ever say it, because he’s afraid Steve won’t understand, will just get mad thinking Bucky doesn’t believe him capable when that’s not what Bucky thinks at all. So he keeps that sentiment to himself, thinking maybe one day, when Steve is doing better or the war waging across the sea is over… Maybe he’ll be able to find the words then.

He still takes Steve’s meaning, though, and closes the gap between them so he can give the blond a filthy kiss, all lips and teeth and tongue and almost no art at all. Steve moans into his mouth as Bucky thrusts his fingers in a little harder, using his thumb to rub against Steve’s perineum. He’s rewarded when Steve gasps into the kiss and Bucky lets him literally take his breath.

Bucky pauses for a moment to slick his fingers up again with more vaseline before carefully working in a third finger. It’s a tight fit and he has to be careful, but it’s worth it to hear the low keening noises that tell him Steve is getting close. He speeds up, breaking the kiss so he has use of both hands. One he keeps in his lover’s body, reveling in the soft, warm feel of him. The other he uses to stroke Steve’s sides soothingly, fitting his hand around Steve’s waist, down his hip and around his thigh again and again. Steve bucks against him, hands scrabbling for purchase against the onslaught of sensations. Bucky shifts so he can grasp Steve’s swollen cock in one hand while the other continues to rock into him, and now Steve is rocking _up_ into Bucky’s hand and _down_ onto his fingers and the brunet can watch him unravel at the seams, color high in his cheeks and hair matted with sweat.

“That’s it, Stevie. God you look so good. Love the way you look around me; how tight you are.”

Steve gives a low, broken moan and grabs one of Bucky’s arms for something to hold on to, not hindering his movements in the slightest. He’s reduced to nonsensical pleas and chanting Bucky’s name, and the older boy can’t get enough.

“Bucky, _Buck_ , ah, please, please, _please_.”

“Beautiful,” Bucky murmurs. This is the only time he can get away with saying it, when Steve’s too far gone to pay real attention. “Come for me, Stevie. I wanna see you come with me in you.” He adjusts he angle and thrusts with a little more force, nailing Steve’s prostate mercilessly.

The added stimulation along with Bucky’s command snap what’s left of Steve’s control and he comes in hot, thick spurts, back arched and muscles clamping down on Bucky’s fingers and oh, God, Bucky could almost come from this sight and feeling alone. Steve is quiet when he comes—always is—like the breath has been punched out of him. Abruptly, he takes in a lungful of air and whines, shoving Bucky’s hands away from his over-sensitive body.

As soon as he’s clear, Steve pounces on the brunet, using his own cum as lubricant (and Jesus if that doesn’t make Bucky even harder) so he can glide his hand over Bucky’s straining erection. The smooth pressure of Steve’s palm against his head and those nimble fingers grasping his shaft make short work of his control and he comes embarrassingly fast with a muffled cry of Steve’s name. Steve watches him—always does—with a single-minded, blue-eyed intensity as he draws out Bucky’s pleasure like taffy on a warm summer day. 

Just as mind-numbing pleasure begins to edge into pain, Steve stops and pins his lover for another kiss. This one is passionate but gentle and moves into another kiss, and another, and another, each more lazy but no less loving than the last. When Steve can’t hold himself up anymore, he rolls onto his back. Bucky cleans them both up with a wet towel before nudging Steve under the covers of the bed and curling up around him.

Steve sighs happily and reaches for Bucky’s hand, pressing kisses to his fingertips and palm. He doesn’t need words for Bucky to hear him say ‘I love you.’

Bucky presses closer and moves their twined hands to Steve’s chest, resting them just over his heart so Bucky can feel it pumping steadily under his hand. Steve doesn’t need to hear Bucky to feel the sentiment: ‘I love you too.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhh… I accidentally fluff? >_> This one weirdly got away from me.


	14. Rimming (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back to my happy place! Canon-divergent AU where everyone lives in the Tower and everything is awesome. This chapter had me seriously stumped. I legitimately spent six hours writing, scrapping, and making false starts, and I had to sleep on it. TWICE. I apologize in advance for whatever is in here.
> 
> Thank you all for your suggestions and comments! They’re really helping me try and push through this roadblock. Most of my brain is screaming “You can always skip it and come back!” and the other half is almost as stubborn as Steve in going on as I started. I’m trying to listen to the Steve-sounding part because… well, Steve.
> 
> What do people think of a magical (okay, technological) sex arm, or maybe straight up sex pollen? Is that a kink? Can sex pollen be a kink? 
> 
> As always, comments (of all kinds!), kudos, and requests are welcomed with starry-eyed wonder.

Sometimes Bucky wonders what happened to his innocent, wide-eyed Stevie who used to ask him how to talk to dames. Where did that little punk with two left feet go? Or maybe this has been the real Steve all along, just biding his time?

Either way, Bucky isn’t entirely sure he cares. Not with Steve behind him, massaging the globes of his ass and kissing a scorching trail down Bucky’s spine. He feels the scrape of teeth just above his crack and gives a full-body shudder, pleasure popping like burning embers on his skin. He hangs his head to look at Steve, trying to summon a glare, but the bastard isn’t even looking at him. He tries opening his mouth to say something snarky when The Man With A Plan _fucking laps at his balls and_ moans _while he licks a thick stripe from perineum to the bottom of Bucky’s spine._

Whatever he was thinking goes offline as his whole body tightens deliciously, only Steve’s warm, capable hands keeping him exposed to the cool breaths that chase the trail of saliva back down its path. As Steve’s wet, obscene kisses circle his hole, Bucky realizes that what little he can hear through the rush of blood in his ears is a thin whine he just can’t seem to stop. Steve flattens his tongue against Bucky’s hole and pinches his hip hard at the same time, and, yep, that seems to do the trick. Bucky gasps in a deep breath and pitches forward to rest his head on his hands. It inadvertently shoves his ass closer to Steve’s face, but the blond doesn’t complain. Instead, he seizes the opportunity to draw Bucky in by the hips and press a kiss directly on his waiting hole, tongue making little flicks around the ring of muscle. 

Bucky muffles a yelp as Steve’s tongue breaches him briefly, and he can feel the punk smile as he puffs warm breaths across the brunet’s crack. He’s practically purring when he tongues Bucky again, the vibrations against sensitive nerves zinging up his spine. Bucky struggles to regulate his breathing—he doesn’t want to come too soon—but his not-so-innocent Stevie gives him a light, playful swat on one cheek before kneading them again, gently spreading Bucky wider for better access.

Steve points his tongue, making the muscle rigid and dragging it forcefully up Bucky’s perineum all the way to his hole, stopping to breath warm air before he dives his tongue into his target. He’s smart enough to grab one of Bucky’s thighs, saving himself from a bloody nose, and tongues in just a bit further; just enough so he can alternate relaxing and tightening the muscle, leaving himself open-mouthed and drooling while Bucky chokes on the pulsing sensation made by Steve’s tongue. Steve keeps massaging any part of Bucky he happens to be holding, but one hand slides lower and…

Bucky thought Steve was out of surprises. He was obviously wrong. Steve’s tongue is still in him when Steve starts messaging his perineum, his thumb slick with saliva making it easier to get warm, firm strokes. It doesn’t take him long to pick up on his lover’s body language and he’s able to circle that one place firmly, now hooking his tongue to catch at the rim as he withdraws.

“ _Steve_ …” Bucky is already whimpering into the covers bunched reflexively under his hands.

“Buck, God, I—” Steve breaks off and take a fortifying breath, exhaling against Bucky’s skin so as not to waste a single moment. His voice is husky with desire. “D’you think you can come like this for me, babe?”

Bucky’s brain may be attempting to short out. “No, _no_ nono, _please_ …”

“No? Don’t think you can come without me touchin’ your cock?” And fuck if Bucky doesn’t curse the day he admitted his weakness for Steve’s rare displays of dirty-talk. That plus the faint clipping of their native accent is too much to refuse. He doesn’t _want_ to come like this, without Steve on him or in him, but he can _try_. Hell, he’s so hard already it’s a distinct possibility.

Bucky reaches out and back and Steve senses what he needs; threads the fingers of one hand through Bucky’s and squeezes reassuringly.

“I… Do it, Stevie.”

“What?” Steve sounds a little dazed, but even from his obscured view Bucky can see the twitch of interest in Steve’s dick.

“Make me come on your… on your tongue.” Deep, even breaths.

“You know I don’t wanna do anythin’ you don’t wanna. No’s okay too, yeah?”

“You damn punk, I know. And I just said: try me. Loud and clear. Or you change your mind and think it ain’t gonna work?”

He sees Steve’s face long enough to catch the predatory gleam before the blond dives back in to seal his lips around Bucky’s hole and fucking _sucks_.

It takes a huge effort not to push back and bloody Steve’s nose, but it’s such a damn surprise, pleasure jolting up his body, that he can’t fully keep from moving his hips at least a _little_. It earns him even more tongue than before, Steve’s fingers still massaging, and when his eyes flutter closed he can’t help but moan brokenly, feeling disproportionately warm and full. Another hum has him gasping, and he realizes that he’s never really stopped moaning and— _fuck, he ripped the sheets_ —he’s been chanting broken pieces of Steve’s name for a while and— _an obscene pop; the feeling of cool air making the next press of wet warmth better than the last_ —would Steve ever stop surprising him?

Another fevered lap around Bucky’s sensitive hole and he realizes that Steve is making minute rocking motions. He makes the mistake of looking back and can vaguely see Steve’s hand moving, touching himself, his dick so hard and _dammit_ —

 _”Fuck, fuck,_ Steve _, fuck…”_

Steve groans and plunges in ever deeper, one hand still massaging intently until—

_”FUCK!”_

—Bucky’s orgasm crashes into him so suddenly it leaves his vision blurring, ears ringing, as he comes untouched. And isn’t Steve a fucking gentleman because he keeps tongue-fucking Bucky through it until the brunet is spent and quaking, resting his forehead on the relative coolness of his left arm, before taking his own pleasure. Bucky can feel Steve’s release stripe along the backs of his thighs and in a vague way he likes it, basking in the warm afterglow.

Steve helps him slump onto his side, soothing and petting him absently before getting up on shaky feet, disappearing for a moment before returning with a warm washcloth to clean his lover. He returns looking likewise cleaner and with a fresh blanket besides, pulling the soiled one off the bed despite Bucky’s weight. Bucky can hear it rip even further, but Steve doesn’t seem to care so neither does he. He _does_ care when Steve covers them both with the blanket and spoons up behind him, nosing him behind the ear and taking a deep breath as if memorizing Bucky’s scent.

“Should know better’n t’ challenge you,” Bucky grumbles sleepily. That garners a laugh from Steve.

“Shut it. I know you did it on purpose, Buck.”

Bucky makes a noncommittal noise, but smiles into the silence.

“…You kiss your mother with that mouth, Rogers?”

Steve rolls until he’s hovering over Bucky and looks at him seriously. “No, but I kiss my boyfriend with it.” He presses a kiss to Bucky’s lips, slow and languid, before moving down to his jaw and the column of his throat. “I kiss him all. Fucking. Over.” The last word is practically a growl.

Turns out Bucky isn’t all that sleepy after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky are supersoldiers and impervious to measly human diseases. We are _not_ supersoldiers (unless one of you really is, in which case, share your secret in a comment please), so please practice rimming with caution. Read up on good practice, be clean and stay protected. This Public Sex Announcement courtesy of Lecriox Publishing.


	15. 69 (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your comments and support. It means a lot to me! :) Canon divergence where Bucky lives in the Tower and no one is waging war on anyone else. Except for Bad Guys vs Avengers, but that doesn’t matter right now.
> 
> Do you think I’m taking things too seriously if I look up stuff like the ideal ways to 69? ._.
> 
> I accept all your comments (kudos, requests, etc.) without shame! 
> 
> (…Maybe _some_ shame.)

Most of the time, Bucky loves to top. He could sing ballads rivaling Thor’s epics about how glorious it is to love Steve in every way, to be in him and on him, watching or feeling him unravel underneath the brunet, knowing he’s the one to make it all happen… There are a lot of advantages to topping.

=

It started off with a lot of frustration, actually. Something about having a Protocol 69 kept making Tony and Clint snicker and high-five each other, though why emergency scrub-down protocols in the field were so amusing neither Bucky nor Steve had any idea. But the two wouldn’t stop, and when Sam came in from DC to catch up, he flat-out started laughing at the new protocols review and there were _three_ of them high-fiving all around the table. Steve and Natasha, who were stuck doing the review, traded looks: Steve’s baffled and Natasha’s resigned. 

“Don’t make me put you in time out,” Natasha warned.

“Ooooh, kinky, Tasha.” Clint leaned in.

“Time out starts with calming down. With a cattle prod, if I have to. And I probably have to,” Natasha said coolly. And damn if she didn’t actually produce a cattle prod. Well, a shortened version of one, but still.

“Is this some kind of twenty-first century joke?” Steve asked tiredly. Mistake (win).

“Oh God that I don’t believe in, Sam, your bestie doesn’t know what a 69 is!” Tony was trying his best to look both outraged and horrified while laughing.

Sam drew himself up to his full height. “Hey, not something that came up in conversation! Besides, I’m the guy with great taste in music and _normal_ human interaction. _You’re_ the sex guru.”

“No, that’s Natasha!”

“Would _you_ ask Natasha about sex?”

“…Point."

" Just makes it more your specialty, Tony.”

“Blame Rhodey, then, he’s never around and air force guys get all this action, like this time in college when—”

Steve and Bucky’s phones had beeped.

“Took care of it. You’re all welcome,” Clint said smugly, pocketing his phone.

Natasha leaned over Bucky’s shoulder to see the message. Which was really less a message and more like a serious of links, one of which had _pictures_. Steve, who was more keen on what Clint’s emails usually looked like, didn’t both going for his phone at all.

“Oho, so that’s what the joke is. You must be swacked, thinkin’ we didn’t have that.”

“’Swacked’? Is he using old man words on us?”

“Wasn’t too polite to talk open about sex. Mostly called it layin’ head to heel.”

Steve turned bright red. “It’s got a _number_?”

“Sorry, buddy, think it did in the thirties too. Some of the conversations I can remember make more sense now. Ones with the Howlies. Gabe’s one story… Lucky you weren’t there, _Captain_.”

So of course Bucky had to educate the good Captain about a 69, because as a Captain you never knew what might come in handy. Bucky, in fact, _insisted_ Steve learn why he team kept laughing at that number, and by the end of lesson one Steve just shifted the protocol numbering so having to use 69 would stop being an issue at all. He couldn’t look at the number without going an interesting shade of pink, now.

Lesson three was when Bucky found the exception to his top-preferred position.

=

Even when Steve is the one in him, Bucky is almost always on top. It’s the feeling of being so close to Steve and knowing that _he’s_ the one responsible, even for a short while, for his happiness; his pleasure. Bucky learns every tell, every shift, and he’s confident in making them feel good.

This is the exception, though: When Steve hovers over him, his mouth firmly around Bucky’s cock, taking him in enthusiastically, lost enough in giving to not mind receiving too much either. And Bucky keeps his own licks languid for a while, enjoying himself as vocally as possible to help Steve along, using one hand to tease and caress by turns and his mouth to breathe, warm and wet, on all the most intimate parts of the blond. And when Steve knows he’s doing well, is feeling confident, Bucky takes Steve into his mouth as fast as he can without choking, relaxing the muscles of his throat and killing his gag reflex, and Steve… Well, Steve moans like a _whore_. Bucky knows he fucking loves it by the way he can’t help but thrust down just a little bit, pushing Bucky from comfortable to just shy of choking, and what does that say about Bucky that _that_ makes _him_ moan? Steve always instinctively lets up before Bucky needs to pull him off for air, and that’s why Bucky always lets Steve lose himself in Bucky’s pleasure first: With a lover so finely attuned that his body _knows_ what Bucky needs, letting Steve’s brain engage _while practically choking Bucky with his cock_ would horrify him.

And while taking control to watch Steve fall apart is fantastic, there is a lot to be said about making Steve forget himself enough to face-fuck Bucky, shallow little pumps or harder thrusts that make him gag, Bucky takes and loves it all. Because in a way, he _is_ controlling the situation. It’s his choice to let Steve do this to him, and he suspects it’s because Steve can’t see his face that he lets go so easily. By choosing to be on the bottom, Bucky _forces_ Steve to take his own pleasure, to control the swell of his climax.

Bucky _loves_ it.

So even though he can’t watch Steve fall apart the way he likes, listening to the desperate moans, Steve’s breath huffing against his own cock or thighs, more than makes up for it. He always knows when Steve is close because his control frays even more and his technique on Bucky’s cock becomes sloppy, and Bucky slides his hands over every inch of Steve he can reach, and the first warm jet of Steve’s come down his throat is what tips him over the edge, fighting to swallow everything he can while not dislodging Steve in the throes of his own pleasure. 

After, Steve always makes sure to roll off so Bucky doesn’t suffocate, and Bucky crawls his way up Steve’s body, throat pleasantly sore and voice raspy, to murmur praise into Steve’s ear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So it turns out that being sick and staring at the computer screen is a good way to find out that part of your illness includes nausea. ._.


	16. Sweet and Passionate (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry guys. I’m not stopping but my progress halted since the last post because my depression and anxiety have gotten worse over the past few days and I need to focus on fixing that first. I’m going to aim for one of these every other day instead, which spaces them apart enough that I don’t feel too pressured. Again, sorry for going AWOL.
> 
> Takes place during WWII after Steve and Bucky are reunited.

It’s hard to catch a break when you’re elbows-deep in the heart of a war, much less one that spans across the globe and includes something as insane and diabolical as HYDRA. But it’s part of human nature to adjust, and pretty soon even the bizarre start to feel like the norm. And no one wants to see the often-filmed Howling Commandos with their precious Captain have a complete meltdown, so despite being an (extremely, thanks to Steve) active unit _on top of_ tolerating stupid prop reels, even the Howlies get leave once in a while.

It’s Paris when they get one of their substantial breaks—which, for them, means more than a day—and after fighting long and hard against Nazis, then Steve fighting long and hard against producers, they march through the streets (for a second time, after securing the entire area), all giddy smiles and the relief of still being alive. As soon as they’re released, the Howlies share a couple drinks before scattering their separate ways. Some head off to other bars, some to get some much-needed rest, and some to find comfort in a stranger’s arms. Steve doesn’t begrudge any of them that, because in a war comfort is had when and where you can find it. He knows he’s lucky because he doesn’t have to go searching for someone to be with: he has that someone by his side almost every day, even if it’s not always in the way they want.

Tonight, though… Tonight no one will comment if Bucky gets a room, no matter that it smells a little like dust and gunpowder. It has hot and cold running water, and a bed, and curtains, and that’s more than they have in the field. And no one will think much of another soldier, tall and blond, edging into that hotel like so many others, men and women, headed to meet someone or just to breathe the newly liberated air.

No one will miss him if Steve lets himself be pulled in through a doorway, or if he uses the barely-there candle light to find the room’s only other occupant; to cradle the brunet’s face carefully in his hands, dipping in for a slow, sweet kiss. It’s a kiss that holds promises and love, like a spring day, warm and green and fresh with rain. It promises more kisses, and intimacy, and comfort and pleasure and protection and vulnerability and _forever_ in the span of only one long breath. And it’s dizzying how Steve can feel it all reflected back at him as though Bucky is a mirror. Or a gem, luminous and dazzling, taking his light and showing it back to him with breathtaking brilliance.

Tonight no one needs to hurry. They’re warm and dry and clean, and Hydra and everything else seem so far away. Tonight only needs to be about two people smoldering until they melt into each other; leave a mark on the other person for good. No matter how many times this happens they know it can be the last. It usually leads to frantic fumbling and hushed cries, but tonight… 

Steve lets his lips slide further down Bucky’s body, taking his time to memorize the taste and feel of skin against his lips. Bucky is healthier than when he first saw him in Europe, but it worries Steve that he doesn’t always feel as _solid_ as he did. Bucky keeps telling him it’s because Steve is used to being the smaller of the two of them, but he notices when his lover becomes quiet sometimes, lost in his own head; or when he skimps on a meal for no reason that Steve can see, but Bucky is smart about making it look like he’s eaten more than he has and rations are tight anyway. But it doesn’t matter right now, because Bucky is substantial enough to hold in his arms, and _here_ enough to respond to Steve’s every touch. 

He’s already given up his shirt under Bucky’s insistent hands, but he gets them both to the bed before lifting the brunet’s ragged clothing. Each brush of Steve’s lips across Bucky’s skin is a small prayer, worshiping every inch of the now-smaller man under him. Bucky responds beautifully, small gasps and whimpers emerging from his lips, skin burning under Steve like he’s on fire with it. By the time they’re naked, they’re both flushed and hard and there’s hardly a place that Steve hasn’t kissed, an endearment that hasn’t been uttered, or a strand of hair that Steve hasn’t blessed. Bucky presses his love into Steve’s skin with his hands, shaky but sure across as much of Steve as he can reach, mapping the blond under his fingertips like he’s blind and might never have this chance again. Sweat mists both of them, making them slide together with ease, and neither of them can stop the moans that erupt when their erections press together. 

“God, Buck, I love you,” Steve whispers into fevered skin. He doesn’t know how long he can last, so his hand is already searching the bed. 

“Love you, Stevie. Love you, love you, love you,” Bucky chants. 

Steve’s hand closes around the petroleum jelly and he coats his fingers, but when he goes to prep his lover he’s met with a pleasant surprise. “You were takin’ too long. Thought I’d put my time t’ good use,” Bucky pants, debauched and perfect. 

What else can Steve do but kiss him? He does, crashing their mouths together at the same time he thrusts his fingers into Bucky, moving in time with their tongues. The dual sensations make Bucky arch and moan. Steve moans in response, feeling how _thoroughly_ Bucky’s prepared himself. They’re breathing even harder now, panting into each others’ mouths and feeling truly warm for the first time in months. Bucky whimpers and grips Steve’s arms tight, tugging at him demandingly. 

“ _Now_ , Stevie. I’m ready, Christ, _please_.” And although Steve started with every intent of taking it slow and being careful, the hard edge of need in Bucky’s voice dictates his actions now. He lines himself up and slides in: one smooth, solid thrust that sinks him into Bucky’s body until he has nothing left to give. Bucky, who’d slowly exhaled while taking Steve in, sucks in a deep breath as his eyes fly open, pupils blown wide at the perfect fullness. 

He doesn’t need to say anything. The way his body grips Steve tight; the small, abortive movements of his hips… It’s like words on a marquee what Bucky needs. Steve snakes one arm under Bucky’s back to clutch his shoulder, anchoring him firmly. One of Bucky’s hands flies to the nape of Steve’s neck just in time for the Captain to pull out until his cockhead threatens to pull past Bucky’s rim, only for Steve to plunge back in hard enough to make them both grunt. 

It sends sparks flying up their spines, and Steve stops trying to hold back. He covers one of Bucky’s hands with his own and gives him exactly what he wants, murmuring praises the entire time. For his part, Bucky melts against him, trying desperately to keep his voice down as encouragements and declarations of love pour from his lips. 

Bucky, riding close to the edge, makes the mistake of looking up into Steve’s face. They’re sweaty and one of Bucky’s legs is pushed up so his knee is folded against him; Steve’s cock brushes his prostate every other stroke and the blond is rolling into him with almost single-minded devotion. But the look on Steve’s face, when Bucky manages to clear his vision, is all wide blue eyes brimming with love. The beginnings of a smile hover near the corner of his mouth regardless of his exertion, and Bucky thinks it might be that Steve is proud: proud of him, of being with him, of being able to bring him pleasure. And if that isn’t the sappiest fucking thing Bucky’s ever seen he doesn’t know what is. Steve kisses Bucky’s fingers, entwined with his own, and it snaps what control Bucky had left. 

He’s practically sobbing when he comes, the sensation of his orgasm exploding through him, but he refuses to listen to his body and close his eyes. No, he keeps them wide open so he can watch Steve’s expression, something close to worship flashing across his features a moment before he, too, comes. 

Bucky fucking loves it. He thinks he’s still chanting Steve’s name as the blond continues to pump weakly into him. Bucky feels warm and full in the best of ways, and he’s really not looking forward to Steve pulling out. 

Steve releases Bucky’s legs but doesn’t pull out just yet. Instead, he leans in and gives Bucky a lingering kiss. Bucky could stay there all night like this, but logically he knows they should get cleaned up. He grumbles when Steve all-too-reasonably points this out. But he also points out that there is a shower big enough to fit two, if they don’t mind seriously sharing space, and it has hot water. 

After all, it’s hard to catch a break in the middle of a war. They’ll take their wins when they can get them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to be frank: I HAD NO IDEA HOW TO WRITE THIS. For some reason it wasn't working in my head. Hopefully it was close? Now I have to think of a suitably public space for the next prompt.


	17. In a Public Place (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WTF I don’t even. I seriously meant to write something graphic and I ended up with this. It’s only rated for language for heaven’s sake! x_x
> 
> Practicing writing AU, this one in the college world. Both boys more or less post serum in terms of looks.
> 
> Also, a huge thank you for everyone's support. You guys are seriously the best and I will try to repay you with... More Stucky? <3

James Buchanan Barnes isn’t going up on anyone’s Top Ten to Tap list. He doesn’t rock dark and broody, though he is, and his face isn’t really complimented by long hair, which he has. He wears too-old henleys and jeans with holes in them unironically, and he’s majoring in Linguistics because he doesn’t know what else to do.

Steve Rogers, on the other hand, is so eligible it’s almost criminal. He’s Shield University’s quarterback with a full athletics scholarship but legitimately good grades. He looks like he should be in cologne ads and helps old ladies cross the street (no, really, it was on Twitter once). He’s always the designated driver, memorizes the names of all his classmates, and manages to balance being a sweaty jock alongside attending LGBTQ rallies (also on Twitter).

His only flaw, and James “Bucky” Barnes’s only strength, is Russian. It’s the one thing they have in common, and it is, Bucky often reflects, probably the only reason they ever met.

By all means they should never work. On the surface, at least, there aren’t two people further apart in the social stratosphere as Steve and Bucky. So God bless Natasha and her insistence on Steve joining her Russian language class and then testing out one session in. Bucky sure as hell does. And God bless Clint for insisting that Steve should continue taking the classes so they could all “speak a secret spy language” (direct quote) before promptly using the excuse to monopolize Natasha’s time as his ‘tutor.’ It left Steve in the position of _needing_ a tutor, and Clint and Natasha knew someone who didn’t do much else with his time and could accommodate a football player’s hectic schedule.

One day, Bucky is going to name his children after them.

Russian isn’t a romantic language. Literally. It’s not. But one night Bucky had gotten tired of bottling up his feelings and muttered, “Your body is as perfect as your heart. One day I want to have both.” In Russian. Which Steve was on the verge of failing. It made _Bucky_ feel better, at least, because it was no secret that half of anyone with eyes was in love with Steve Rogers, so even if nothing came of it, at least he’d put that out in the open (sort of). Imagine his surprise when two nights before finals, Steve turned to him and in (heavily accented) Russian said, “You’ve had my heart for three months you idiot.”

Six days, four finals, and one amazingly Nicolas Sparks-inspired kiss later, Bucky is reconsidering the status of Russian as a romantic language. He wonders some days if it would be a good dissertation topic.

Today, though—well, to _night_ specifically—he’s not thinking of any of that. Which is probably some kind of situational irony because he’s supposed to be meeting Steve in the university library to study for a practical exam. Steve needs to maintain a conversation in Russian for at least three minutes to pass; five if he wants a B. Bucky should be focused on the conversational topics he’s written up. They’re in the folder and everything. But all he can think about, tucked away in his little alcove in the stacks, is how he hasn’t had alone time with Steve for at least two weeks. Despite making it _look_ easy, Steve’s life is an endless stream of practice, study, interviews and, oh look!, more study.

That’s why tonight Bucky is going to be the good boyfriend he is and completely blow off their study session in favor of helping the blond relax. It’s all about Steve, really. Honestly, how can he be expected to keep up a good conversation if he’s so wound up? Bucky keeps reciting this reasoning in his mind while he scans around anxiously, waiting for the other man to show up. It’s not like Steve to make someone wait.

Eventually, Bucky caves and calls Steve’s phone. Normally he wouldn’t in case Steve is running late and talking to a professor or coach, but he’s been so harried lately that Bucky once found him half-asleep in an extra-large mug of coffee. He waits impatiently as the call connects, and then jumps about a mile when he hears Steve’s ringtone blare from deeper into the stacks. He stands and cranes his head around, impatiently shoving his hair into a messy bun to keep it from his face. There: he sees a spot of light on one of the shelves, around eye height. 

Frowning, Bucky makes his way over. Honestly, it’s creepy as hell: They always choose this area of the library because it’s far enough away that their talking doesn’t bother anyone. The downside is that it places them in the bibliological boonies, out where you have to slide the heavy rows of shelves manually to get at the books you want, and the lights only turn on when they sense movement. Even the sounds are creepy. Metal sliders and metal shelving make for a lot of creaking and echoes, and the buzz of fluorescent lighting doesn’t help matters any. The alcoves have sound baffles so people can study, but all the way out here…

Bucky has to call Steve’s phone twice more to properly locate it, his adrenaline spiking every time a new light turns on or he loses track of the phone and has to start it buzzing on a metal shelf again. When he _does_ find it, it’s sans Steve. Bucky _knows_ the lights in this part of the library haven’t gone off, yet here sits Steve’s phone, blinking angrily about three missed calls and one text message. Feeling like he should have heard the text go off, Bucky picks up the phone to check it.

 **Unknown Number:** _knock knock_

What the… “Knock knock?” Bucky echoes quietly. He nearly drops the phone when it vibrates in his hand.

 **Unknown Number:** _behind you_

Heart racing, Bucky whips around.

Nothing.

 _Too many horror movies,_ he thinks to himself. He’s turning back around and it’s only the smallest motion in his periphery that alerts him. He turns hard and ducks, ramming an elbow out to his right, both phones clattering to the ground as he yells and slams his attacker into the shelve behind him. They tumble to the ground, books raining down, and Bucky twists wildly, too busy thrashing under the heavy weight of another body to notice that he hasn’t been hurt in the fall. He’s cursing in at least three languages, only one of them English, when he finally realizes that the sound he hears from above him is _laughter_.

He feels the weight shift and Steve’s face comes into focus, the large blond straddling his stomach and laughing helplessly.

“Oh God, Buck. Oh Lord, you should have seen your own face. Christ, I wish I’d gotten it on video.” Steve bursts into new peals of laughter, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes as Bucky shoves at him roughly.

“Fuck you, Rogers! I could’ve hurt you, you fucking punk!” His heart is still racing and now his hands are shaking too.

Steve beams down at him. “I know, but you wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know that,” Bucky grumbles. He starts to haul himself out of underneath Steve, his previous plans forgotten.

“Yes, I do.”

And fuck Steve Rogers and his perfect voice that can go from teasing to completely, heart-meltingly serious in a nanosecond, and his perfect face with its perfect blue eyes that can give Bucky such an earnest fucking look even in the middle of a stupid prank.

Steve takes Bucky’s left hand in both of his, cradling it against his cheek. Eyes soft and contrite, Steve kisses the palm. “Didn’t mean to scare you quite so bad, Buck,” he murmurs. He can see now exactly how badly he’d scared his boyfriend. “I was just blowing off some steam.” His lips trace feather-light across scarred skin.

“Yeah, well…” Bucky grumbles. He’s still scowling; still on high alert. “Y’ _did_ scare the hell outta me, and I ain’t laughin’ much.”

“’M sorry.”

“Shoulda thought of that before.”

Fuck Rogers with his stupid long lashes and his stupid sincerity. Staying mad at him feels a little like kicking puppies. “I really am sorry, Bucky. It was stupid and I—”

Steve stops abruptly when the lights above them shut off from lack of movement. The silence left in the wake of their background hum is oppressive.

Bucky grins into the darkness. Right on time.

Moving fast, he twists and heaves up, using his free hand to shove Steve backwards. The lights flicker wildly for a moment and he uses the confusion to pin the blond, leaving both his hands free to dig into Steve’s sides mercilessly. By the time the lights hum properly into life, Steve is gasping helplessly under the brunet.

“No, no! Mercy, Buck!” Steve squeals and writhes on the ground, breath coming in giggling pants as he tries to bat Bucky’s hands away from his ticklish sides. His cries of “Please, mercy!” are drowned under Bucky’s triumphant, “Sorry is right!”

By the time Bucky tires of tickling Steve, they’re both laughing and red in the face. Bucky’s hair is half-out of its bun and Steve’s sticks up everywhere. He keeps having to wipe away tears from laughing so hard. Bucky settles back, helping Steve sit up while they catch their breaths.

“Wow, I guess there really isn’t anyone around,” Steve says, casting a glance in the general direction of the door.

“If there was, we’d’a been yelled at by now,” Bucky agrees.

The words are hardly out of his mouth before Steve’s lips crash into his, greedy and possessive. After a beat of surprise Bucky kisses back, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck and moaning appreciatively.

“Really. Didn’t. Mean to. Scare you,” Steve mutters between kisses.

“Shut. Up.” Bucky presses into Steve more insistently. He kind of wants to see how long they can kiss before needing air.

Steve breaks away and puts a hand on Bucky’s chest to stop him for a moment. His expression is solemn, but Bucky can still see a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “No, really. I’m sorry.”

“Okay, sure.”

Bucky makes a noise of frustration when Steve prevents him from kissing him again.

“No.” Steve leans in to ghost his lips over Bucky’s skin, breath fanning across his cheek to whisper in his ear. “Really. You’ve been so good to me and I really scared you… Let me apologize.” Bucky shudders as Steve nips lightly at the shell of his ear. “ _Properly_.”

Oh.

“Oh.”

And fuck Steve Rogers and his seductive smile and plush lips and his sinful tongue that dance across his skin, hot and perfect, making Bucky forget exactly why he was mad earlier and what he was even supposed to be doing in this damn library.

Or just, you know, _fuck_ Steve Rogers.


	18. On the Floor (E)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No, seriously, _fuck_ Steve Rogers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fuck it, I’m going for College AU. Picking up where the previous chapter left off, so you might want to read that one first. 
> 
> …OR you can just know that Steve and Bucky are in a modern college AU, are boyfriends, and are on the floor in the stacks of the university library. It all depends on how much background blathering you want to read. <3
> 
> Thank you all again! I love hearing from people and I’m still stacking requests if anyone has one. Please check Chapter 1 / Intro for already-marked requests and updates.

Bucky can’t help but tilt his head back, giving Steve better access to his neck and collar, his faded henley moving aside easily under the blond’s questing lips. Miraculously his hair has managed to stay up, but he knows it won’t remain that way for long: Steve loves to grab it when things get heavy, pulling at the silken strands with just the right amount of force. Bucky won’t lie: he gets off on those pricks of almost-pain, that feeling that Steve just can’t bear to let him go. It’s one of the reasons he keeps putting off cutting it.

Steve rolls them so Bucky is trapped underneath, his shirt rucked up with Steve’s hands flying everywhere, the cool tile of the floor in stark contrast with his burning skin. His own hands jerk at Steve’s sensible cotton shirt, failing spectacularly at ripping it off. It’s much harder than it looks in the movies.

Giving up on the shirt (curse all shirts, Steve Rogers should stop wearing shirts, or at least ones without snaps), Bucky fumbles instead at Steve’s jeans. He’s long since learned the trick of popping the button and unzipping the fly with one hand, making the motion a caress that makes Steve hiss with pleasure before flinging off Bucky’s shirt and laving his chest with wet, sucking kisses.

Bucky arcs into Steve’s waiting hands and cries out, the sound echoing slightly in the room. He feels one of Steve’s calloused fingers press against his lips. Blue eyes dance with mirth above him.

“Shhh. We’re in a library, Buck.”

And fuck, that’s right, they _are_. It shouldn’t give him such a thrill but it does, looking up at the neat rows of books and knowing that someone could turn a corner and find them. He pushes down the urge to giggle like a child, the absurd notion of sexy hide and seek popping into his brain for a moment before Steve bites down on his skin and obliterates all coherent thought.

Steve is already misted with sweat, eyes dark with lust as he straddles his lover’s thighs. He’s not as smooth as Bucky, fumbling at his pants, but what Steve lacks in finesse he makes up in enthusiasm and sheer power. When Bucky’s jeans refuse to vanish under the blond’s glare, he slides down and yanks at them hard enough to drag Bucky down a few inches along with them, making him smother an undignified yelp as the cold floor comes in contact with his bare skin. The motion tangles his hair and spreads it messily over his head and Steve finishes the job by leaning up and pulling the elastic out of Bucky’s hair. Bucky is so far gone that even the pinpricks of pain at hair being pulled out makes him moan in pleasure. 

It’s around this point that Bucky hazily realizes that Steve is criminally over-clothed, so he paws ineffectively at the offending garments. Steve chuckles against Bucky’s skin, shimmying out of his shirt while Bucky watches and feels the play of muscles flexing across his back. Steve pauses, jeans and shorts partway down his thighs, to grab Bucky’s left hand in one of his own, brushing his lips against the scars marring the pale flesh. Some of the scars are numb, some oversensitive, and Bucky thinks all of them are ugly. But the way Steve runs his soft lips over every one, blue eyes peeking up at Bucky adoringly, he can almost believe he’s just as perfect as Steve says. Bucky’s breath stutters in his chest as Steve’s tongue peeks out to lap at his fingers, the sensation going straight to his cock.

Steve slinks his way down Bucky’s body and Bucky would laugh at the way Steve has to do a half-shimmy to get out of his pants—he really _would_ laugh—but Steve’s mouth finds Bucky’s cock and suddenly laughing is the last thing on Bucky’s mind. Point of fact, he’s immediately consumed by the very immediate problem of not thrusting into Steve’s mouth, not coming too soon, not yelling with the pleasure of the warmth surrounding him. He’s trembling with the effort of not thrusting up, whimpering under his breath. Steve’s hand planted on Bucky’s hip, firm and bracing, is a relief. He can let Steve set the pace and the blond athlete _does_. He swirls his tongue in lazy circles around the head of Bucky’s cock, mixing saliva and precum before using the flat of his tongue to lap all around the head and shaft, dipping lower until he can nuzzle the base, mouthing over it playfully. By now Steve has both hands free and he keeps one anchored to Bucky hip but uses the second to urge Bucky to fist his hand in Steve’s hair. Bucky swallows hard and does, prompting Steve to withdraw that hand and use it to tease at Bucky’s balls in reward.

Bucky has to fight every instinct he has to not thrust up into Steve’s mouth, or shove his head down, or, hell, just yell with all the tension building up inside of him. All he can manage are deep, heavy breaths and muttered, nonsensical phrases. 

They both nearly jump out of their skins when a voice over the PA announces that the library will be closing in thirty minutes. Steve drags his mouth away from Bucky’s cock and contrives to look mournful. Bucky wants to smack him a little.

“Start somethin’ you can’t finish, Rogers?”

“Who said anything about not finishing?” Steve lunges up, one large shoulder upsetting a nearby shelf and sending more books toppling down, and it’s a good job Steve is braced over him because Bucky would probably have bruises tomorrow otherwise. He’s already going to have one kind of bruise, just under where his collar usually lies, thanks to Steve and his sinful mouth.

Bucky has no idea what he did to deserve having Steve in his life. The blond, eyes hazy with lust, _still_ looks out for his partner first. Noticing a small tremor go through the brunet’s body, Steve drags his discarded clothes and bookbag over, lifting up Bucky’s hips to slide his jacket underneath and following that with a makeshift pillow made of his rolled-up shirt. Something about the whole thing is amusing and arousing all at once. Between the high shelves, the clothes surrounding them, and the darkness blanketing the rest of the room, it’s like they have a little nest all to themselves.

Steve licks and nips his way back up Bucky’s body, tracing nonsense lines with his lips and teeth, taking a handful of extra seconds to tease his nipples erect and aching and listening to Bucky swallow down moans of satisfaction with a smirk on his face. When he reaches the brunet’s ear, Steve is flushed and achingly erect as though he were the one being lavished with attention instead. Then again, the way Bucky carefully tracks him with his cold steel-grey eyes, seeming to catalogue every moment; the way he loses track of which language he’s uttering his praise and devotion… it’s as powerful as touch as far as Steve is concerned. Touching the soul, maybe. 

Bucky needs physical contact, he knows. Buck spent so long hating himself and hiding both his appearance and heart from people that he’s touch-starved. Steve is only too happy to give that back to him, and Bucky is happy with only a few knowing about the spiky/soft shell carefully guarding his heart. Steve, on the other hand, is starved of heart. Since puberty people have looked at him differently, seen him as a leader when only a year before he’d been ignored. They’re enamored of the person he looks like and his careful public displays, but no one really cares much what Steve Rogers truly wants. Actually, most people in the university still think he’s straight. Bucky was the first person in a long time to be more impressed that Steve could draw a football stadium rather than play in one, and once he’d managed to coax Steve into singing for him. It was sentimental and Steve isn’t a great singer, but Bucky coaxed it out of him anyway. And when Steve started crying three quarters through, Bucky didn’t ask a single damn question, just held him until it was over. And instead of letting it get awkward, he’d suggested a song of his own ‘for next time’: this one a silly ditty of a bar song. Bucky even promised to play the guitar despite being long out of practice and needing to simplify the chords to account for loss of mobility on his left.

So when Bucky grabs at him for the physical reassurance that Steve is there, Steve grabs right back. And somehow it’s always been Bucky’s instinct to do every little thing he can to make it clear Steve is foremost in his thoughts, even when Steve is the one in control. Steve thinks that _this_ is why they work. Not just the sex (which is amazing), but because of what it reveals about them.

“Steve, if you don’t stop all of this soon, it’s gonna get messy real quick,” Bucky huffs with a strained laugh. He’d planned to get Steve to a bed or a sofa or something. Somewhere they would at least have some supplies on hand. Because while Steve surprised him before he could spring first, Bucky _is_ a good boyfriend and had something prepared. Of course, part of him must have forgotten he’s dating Steve Rogers.

“Mmm. Doesn’t have to be messy. Might’ve been planning a surprise.”

Bucky quirks an eyebrow before submitting to another kiss.

“A different surprise. A good one this time,” Steve promises. “But we really should be quiet. I think we can get suspended for going at it in the library.”

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s in the student handbook somewhere,” Bucky drawls sarcastically. Steve gives him a fond ‘shut up’ look, which Bucky takes as permission to sit up and kiss the hell out of his boyfriend. Steve wraps one arm around Bucky, against his back and sliding his fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck, getting up on his knees so he has the height advantage and bearing down. His hand slides to cup Bucky’s jaw in a filthy kiss that leaves them both panting heavily into each other’s mouths.

“You said something about a surprise?” Bucky murmurs, sliding his lips along Steve’s clean-shaven jaw. Steve gives him a slightly hazy look before nodding minutely, leaning in until Bucky is forced to stretch back out on the floor before reaching past him and fishing around in his discarded bookbag. He almost collapses on top of the brunet when Bucky leans up to nibble a line across Steve’s shoulder.

Steve catches his own weight just in time, managing a half-hearted glare at his boyfriend’s antics. Bucky grins unrepentantly and moves on to tracing his fingers lightly down Steve’s chest. “I think you were getting something?”

Muttering what sounds suspiciously like ‘ _You’re_ going to get something,’ Steve quickly rummages in his bag before triumphantly placing his prizes on Bucky’s chest. Bucky almost goes cross-eyed looking at them: condoms and lube. He can’t help but laugh.

“You weren’t kidding. Since when did you start being prepared all the time?”

Steve blushes hard, kissing Bucky to shut him up for a moment. “I was… ah… restocking. For, y’know, later? But now seems appropriate too.” He nuzzles Bucky’s neck and spreads lube on his fingers before palming the brunet’s ass and tracing ever closer to his hole. Bucky can’t help but smirk to himself.

He gasps as Steve starts in surprise, his fingers rocking against the plug Bucky’s been wearing for the better part of an hour. The intimate feeling of Steve’s fingers crooking the toy makes Bucky see stars, turning his chuckle into a low whine. “Yer not the only one with surprises, Stevie,” he manages. His eyes fly open as Steve actually _growls_.

The blond attacks his throat with renewed vigor, using his fingers to massage the toy more firmly. When Bucky arcs against him with a strangled cry, Steve moves lower to roll his nipples in his mouth, tonguing the nubs until they’re hard and aching. Steve changes to taunting Bucky with the toy, pulling it out slightly and moving it before shoving it back into Bucky’s ass with a growl. _Christ_ Bucky didn’t think that hearing Steve Rogers so animalistic would be a turn on, but seeing him feral with lust is doing crazy things to an already over-active libido.

Steve _feels_ like he’s going wild; mad with the need to dive into the pliant body beneath him. Bucky has seemingly given up on language again, cursing and begging by turns, his nails digging furrows into Steve’s tanned skin; gripping and leaving little crescent marks when Steve does something particularly clever with his tongue.

“Can I…?” Steve pulls on the plug more firmly and Bucky can only nod helplessly, words coming out as half-intelligible babble. Steve gathers “пожалуйста” in the mix somewhere and takes it as permission enough, removing the toy from his lover’s body before leaning back to admire Bucky again. The brunet is shivering with anticipation, eyes hazy and wet and his hole already stretched and waiting. Steve strokes it with his fingers anyway, needing to make sure, and by the way that Bucky cants his hips he’s more than ready.

Steve manages a condom and more lube with trembling hands, thankful that there are other uses for his laser focus, and lines himself up. Bucky gives him a tender, trusting look that shouldn’t be as hot as it is and Steve can’t wait any more: he slides into his lover in one gloriously smooth stroke, not stopping until he’s buried to the hit. Under him, Bucky moans and bites his shoulder, circling his hips enticingly, wanting Steve to move _now_. And, God, does Steve want to. Hearing another insistent whine, Steve realizes that literally nothing and no one is stopping him; he doesn’t even know what he thought he was waiting for. With a snarl he withdraws before thrusting in, hard, making Bucky keen into the air between them. The sound of his own name fills his ears and he can’t stop now, doesn’t regret the brutal pace that drives Bucky to become more vocal, louder until Steve can only hear him and the blood rushing in his ears and the slap of skin against skin.

Then Bucky is tightening his legs around Steve’s waist, arms pulling him down for a crushing, searing kiss, and Bucky’s body freezes, clamping down on him while he climaxes, untouched, sobbing with the force of his orgasm and Steve… Steve can only keep moving, eyes wide in fascination as he continues the kiss and shakes through his own climax, riding the crest of pleasure for so long that he feels like it might never end.

But it does, eventually, the two of them sweaty and spent on the now-warm tiles of the floor. They do nothing but hold each other and breathe for a few minutes, Bucky brushing back sweat-damp hair from Steve’s face and giving him a warm look with that trademark crooked smile. Steve knows he’s smiling back like a sap and he doesn’t care.

Eventually, though, Bucky shifts and grimaces. Steve grabs for his shorts—he can go commando back to one of their rooms—thinking that the sticky mess cooling between them is the reason for the face Bucky is making. Instead, Bucky shifts and arcs up a little, reaching underneath himself before settling back down and looking at the slightly worse-for-the-wear book that had been digging into his back. Steve stares at it.

“Trail Guide to the Body,” he reads aloud. Bucky cracks up and soon they’re both laughing, Bucky shaking the book suggestively between them while Steve tries to snatch it from him.

“Guess you don’t need this, do ya Rogers?” Bucky leers. Steve shakes his head fondly as he cleans the both of them up, tying off the condom and rolling it into his boxers. He shoves everything into the plastic bag previously only housing his ‘supplies,’ figuring he’ll be opening it back up soon enough. He bats the book out of Bucky’s hands and shoves his pants into his face.

“Get dressed, Barnes,” he replies fondly. “Library’s closing in…” he points at the ceiling expectantly.

“Five minutes,” Bucky choruses with the intercom. “Which means we have ten minutes until the final sweep catches us. I’m in no rush.” He contrives to pout while Steve stands to get properly dressed. “Really, Stevie? Gonna be the love ‘em and leave ‘em type?”

“Only if you don’t get dressed.” Steve finds Bucky’s discarded pants and flings those at him too. “Floor’s nice and all, but I was thinking of a real bed for round two.”

Bucky, already buttoning his pants in good humor, pauses and looks up. “Round two?”

“Well, you know… No rush.”

He laughs and presses a kiss to Bucky’s head as the brunet hurries to put on his shirt, snagging Steve’s bookbag off the ground. “Library is closing, etcetera. Don’t wanna bother the nice librarians and lose our studying spot, do we? I’ve still got a lot to teach you, punk.”

“Look forward to learning, jerk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Пожалуйста (pa-ZHAL-sta) = “please” in Russian. It’s kind of complicated as it can be used for both a polite request and to express gratitude. So Bucky’s working it on multiple levels. ;)
> 
> Trail Guide to the Body is an actual book. I don’t know anything about it other than it’s some kind of anatomy guide or workbook…? I just looked up books on Google, but in case you wanted to know, anatomy means that Steve and Bucky were going at it in the 500s section. Naughty boys.


	19. Lazy Morning Sex (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at keeping schedules. Also, I am totally using this as an excuse to not think about having to cook on Thanksgiving. Porn > Cooking.
> 
> Canon divergent where Bucky is friends with everyone and nothing bad happens. ;_;

Bucky hasn’t woken up peacefully in so long that he almost doesn’t know what to do with it. He can feel his brain trying to tell his body to wake up and move, scrabbling for a reason why he should be on high alert. But his body is too relaxed; warm and content like it hasn’t been in… well, since before the train. Eventually his brain gives up: Bucky doesn’t _want_ to freak out, he didn’t have nightmares for once, he can still feel the slight lump that he knows are his emergency weapons under the blankets, and Steve is cuddling him from behind, one large arm thrown over Bucky’s waist like he’s the world’s deadliest teddy bear.

Speaking of which, Steve murmurs in his sleep and drags Bucky closer, nuzzling the back of his neck. It makes the ex-assassin smile. Some things are still the same, in small ways: how his Stevie likes to cling in his sleep, or the garbled half-words he mutters right before he wakes up. Bucky rolls over carefully, fixing his eyes on Steve’s face, waiting. 

There: the way Steve wakes, in stages. It’s something Bucky remembered recently and can’t believe he ever forgot. Call him sentimental but he loves the way Steve wakes up. First he blearily opens his eyes, long lashes fluttering as he struggles to actually awaken. Heavy with sleep, Steve finally raises his head a little as if to look for a clock before he gives up, not awake enough to find much of anything. It’s only then that he starts to focus, scrubbing at his face before taking in whatever is closest—in this case, Bucky’s indulgent smile and clear grey eyes.

“’Mornin’, punk.” 

Steve scrunches up his face against a beam of sunlight, ducking until Bucky’s head blocks out the offending ray. Bucky laughs at Steve’s bedhead, following him down and kissing him soundly, morning breath be damned. Steve hums into the kiss, making another face at the glaring light when they break apart.

“’S _bright_ , Buck.” If he were a lesser man, Steve would be whining.

“I know. It snowed last night. Still going.”

Steve squints at the window to see fat, fluffy flakes drifting down. In an hour or so it’ll be so much slush, but for now the white of the snow enhances the weak sunlight into something almost blinding.

“I remember how sluggish you used to get, back in Brooklyn,” Bucky says absently. “Used to be scared you’d take sick and die, but it was usually just your bones achin’ like an old man.”

“You don’t gotta worry no more, Buck,” Steve murmurs into pale skin, his lips ghosting along the ragged tissue of Bucky’s left shoulder. His accent comes back with a vengeance at times like these, when Bucky remembers something only the two of them can share. It feels so much like coming home.

Bucky presses Steve’s head back into the pillows with an indolent kiss, long and languid and hot. Steve moans into it, growing painfully erect as Bucky palms him and plunges his tongue between them. The kiss draws on for long moments, each man feeling the other out, exploring with the wonder of novelty but without the awkwardness that the true unknown brings.

Steve brushes his fingers over Bucky’s hole and the brunet is vaguely surprised to feel the silky coolness of lube on Steve’s fingers. He doesn’t question it, though, moaning encouragingly into the blond’s mouth. 

Steve takes his time in stretching Bucky open. It’s a different kind of exertion to go so slowly, each movement orchestrated to move them closer together, lips lingering, teeth nipping; muscles strain with the effort of holding back, defining emotion through the absence of motion. When Bucky feels that he’s ready, it’s with hardly any movement at all that he nudges Steve’s hand away; the simplest thing in the world to work himself over the blond’s cock.

He doesn’t need to hesitate; barely even breaks the kiss as he takes Steve into himself in one long, luxurious roll of his hips. Steve lets him set the pace, a flush working its way steadily up his body with every clench, every nip, every trust. Bucky marvels silently at the heat radiating from his lover; admires the rosy hue of his skin as Bucky stokes the pleasure between them steadily. With the thick walls and silent snow it’s easy to believe that time stands still just for them.

Steve comes first, pulling Bucky in close as he utters his name and shatters the thick blanket of silence. Time comes rushing back in and only takes the barest touch for Bucky to come, dizzy with the force of it, Steve’s name a prayer on his lips.

When he finally comes back to himself, Steve is still pressing kisses to his temple, a smile hovering on his lips. Bucky can feel himself smiling back, reaching up to tangle his fingers in Steve’s hair. They haven’t even left the bed and he feels exhausted.

“Let’s stay in, Stevie.” It’s more of a plea than a demand. If Steve insists on training today Bucky knows he’ll go too. He can’t not on days like this, when the wrong kinds of memories about cold and ice hover too close for comfort. He needs to make sure they’ll be together when the sun sets.

Maybe Steve senses this, or maybe he’s feeling lazy as well. He doesn’t even stop to think about his answer. “Of course, Buck. Even the Avengers need snow days. Just one condition, though.”

The condition puts a bit of a dampener on Bucky’s elation on Steve agreeing to stay, but he’s not one to complain. “Sure. What is it?”

Steve kisses him playfully on the nose. “Take a bath with me?”

Bucky knows his eyes lit up by the way Steve’s grin grows even wider. “All right, but I’m putting that bubbly crap in the water.”

Steve’s laugh rings loud and clear, more beautiful than any music. “As you wish.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, there _is_ a Princess Bride reference! Steve would make the best Westley ever. :3


	20. Outdoors + Moonlight Request (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fulfilling a request for moonlight! Last full moon was apparently a SUPERMOON! Did you know that? I didn’t! I don’t even know what a supermoon _is_ (Okay, I do _now_ because I looked it up). But it sounds cool. And it makes this request even more pertinent than before!  <3
> 
> Takes place before Bucky’s enlistment, although everyone is still of age. The war isn't something that's a concern in here at all.
> 
>  **POSSIBLE WARNING:** I didn't include it in the tags, but there are indirect references to period-typical homophobia.

It’s early even for Bucky, who’s accustomed to waking well before dawn for his job down at the docks. Usually Bucky would use his Sundays off (one every other week) to catch up on sleep and get himself to church, sitting next to the blond in solidarity, offering prayers for Sarah Roger’s soul. But Steve had insisted; had put his stubborn foot down and refused to hear his friend say no. So here they are, hitching a ride on the back of a truck leaving the city with Steve bundled up in as many layers as Bucky could find, closed-lipped over what he’s up to and clutching a paper bag tight against his chest.

Bucky nods off at some point, but he wakes up easily enough when Steve nudges him hard in the ribs. They slide off the back of the truck and call their thank-yous to the driver. Bucky looks around expectantly at… Absolutely nothing.

Okay, not _nothing_ precisely, but nothing in particular. As far as he can tell there’s mostly just grass, road, and, further out, trees. It’s not quite spring yet so there aren’t even any flowers. Steve is looking at him, though, and Bucky doesn’t want to disappoint, so he slaps a smile on his face and summons as much enthusiasm as he can.

“This is great, Stevie!”

Steve just snorts. His expression says he’s not buying it. He always could see through Bucky too easily. “You’re looking at a whole lot of grass and telling me it’s great? C’mon, jerk, this ain’t actually the surprise.” Bucky stifles his sigh of relief and follows his friend off the road. Steve walks with confidence, heading into the trees like he’s not a city boy who wouldn’t know the difference between a maple and pine if it up and bit him in the face. Come to think of it, Bucky wouldn’t either. It doesn’t mean he can’t admire the green, though, or the clean cut of the air. He carefully doesn’t ask (for the dozenth time) if Steve is all right. The younger man is wheezing a little with the cold, but he won’t appreciate being called out on it.

Eventually the trees give way to a small clearing. It’s completely surrounded by large trunks so even though some of the trees only have scant handfuls of new leaves, the wind is still save for the whispers in the higher boughs. The grass is thicker here, just beginning to dew with dawn yet an hour or so away. Steve stomps to the middle of the tall grass and starts circling, tamping down the wild stalks with his shoes. Bucky moves to help even though he has no idea what he’s really doing.

Things finally make some sense when Steve pulls out a large, oiled canvas. It’s a bit worse for the wear and has been patched up a few times with other materials; it looks like something Bucky might see at the docks to protect cargo from the cold spray of water. From the vague scent of salt and sea, Steve might actually have scrounged it from the docks. The blond spreads the cloth on the ground and follows it with a sparse blanket followed by a thermos and two small packages wrapped in scraps of butcher paper and twine. The look he gives Bucky is a cross between embarrassed and defiant.

“Happy birthday, Buck.”

It’s a picnic. It’s a fucking picnic in a fucking meadow, and only Steve Rogers would possibly be romantic and stubborn and _sappy_ enough to put everything together and drag them both here in the cold early-March weather.

“It’s not my birthday yet, punk.” Sometimes Bucky doesn’t know why he opens his own mouth. 

“I _know_ that. But you won’t have off on your birthday and I wanted… I mean, I thought…” Even though it’s dark out, the moon is so bright that he can still see the tips of Steve’s ears go even darker with a blush. “Thought we could celebrate, y’know. Together? Not the same when we go out t’the bar,” he mutters into his scarf.

Steve’s eyes go stormy like they do when he’s ready to fight. He obviously thinks he screwed up somehow, and Bucky has to make this right because it’s actually perfect. He doesn’t know how Steve would have scrounged the money for something like the drop-cloth, or found the time to hunt down a private getaway like this. Luckily for him, Steve’s always been good at reading Bucky’s actions when words fail him.

They both go down in a tangle of limbs as Bucky tackles Steve, relying on the heavy layers of clothing and thick grass to cushion their fall. Steve yelps and clings to Bucky instinctively, the parcels landing somewhere off to their left. Bucky makes a playful growling noise and buries his face in Steve’s scarf, close to his neck. Steve’s breath puffs out in thin clouds as he lets out a surprised laugh.

“So, you like it, then?”

Bucky nods against his skin and shifts to take his own weight properly, unwinding Steve’s scarf. He can feel Steve chuckle again and suddenly Bucky’s floating on air, buoyed by the sharp realization that it’s only the two of them out here. It’s more perfect than he realized. In this glen, away from prying eyes, it’s all right for Bucky to hold Steve like this. No one will damn them for the butterfly kisses he presses to every new inch of exposed skin; he doesn’t have to watch over his shoulder when Steve wraps frail arms around his neck and pulls him in for a thorough kiss. His Stevie is brilliant.

When Steve’s been kissed breathless, Bucky pulls back to admire the heavy blush pinking the younger man’s skin. He’d suck a nice, dark mark on that pretty neck if it wouldn’t raise questions. He’s contemplating doing it anyway when Steve speaks up again.

“Is this a good time to tell you I brought food, and some of it is beef?” Steve stifles another laugh as Bucky looks incredulously from him to the packages on the ground and back again.

“Holy Hell, Stevie! Who’d you hafta kill to get so much?!” He might say it in a joking tone, but Bucky is actually concerned. Beef costs a good bit, and he _knows_ Steve didn’t used to own the cloth they’re lying on. He can only hope that the blond didn’t do something stupid like skip out on his medications to pull together something for today.

“Relax, Buck. I was real careful with the budget this month, and I managed to pick up some freelance work.” Bucky doesn’t need to know that some of the work was physically demanding, or that Steve boiled bones in his stewpot for weeks to shave down his food costs.

“One day I’m gonna marry you, Rogers,” Bucky declares, apparently satisfied by this explanation. “It’s almost bright as day out here, too.” And Bucky loves it, because it gives him both the privacy of night-time with the bonus of getting to see Steve’s delicate features picked out in the radiant glow of the moon.

“Yeah. It looks real big ‘cause the moon’s at its perigee.” Steve clarifies when Bucky just blinks, “It’s as close to Earth as it’s gonna get for the next year an’ a half.” At Bucky’s next look, Steve glares. “What? It was in the papers!”

Bucky loves how they can have a conversation with just a few twitches of the mouth or brow. He won’t say it, though, because Steve will just tease him for being a sap, when they both know that title belongs to the blond. “See, this is why you’re goin’ to college and I’m workin’ at the docks.”

Steve hates it when Bucky talks like that, like he’s not good for anything but grunt work. Steve would be working too, if he thought he could do anything without coughing up a lung. So he glares. “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Steve seems to take that as an invitation. He leans in and plants his mouth firmly against Bucky’s, his tongue probing for entrance. Bucky lets him in, taking in the clean taste of him with a low hum of approval. Steve gains confidence, deepening the kiss, lapping into Bucky’s mouth eagerly, pressing the older man to the ground. Bucky goes willingly, only pausing to pull the second blanket over Steve. Cocooned like this, long stalks all around, trees cutting into his vision and the endless roof of the sky lit by the moon, it’s an oasis all their own. Maybe that’s what makes Bucky so bold, pushing aside Steve’s coat and unbuttoning even more layers. Part of him is worried that Steve will catch a cold, which can easily escalate given the blond’s health. But the rest of him whispers that they might not have this opportunity again, and he promises himself to warm Steve up in other ways.

Bucky’s own coat is shoved roughly down his arms. Steve’s fingers are dexterous despite the cold, and Bucky is divested of his garments long before the man on top of him. Steve’s chill fingers are followed by his hot mouth, tracing patterns only he understands on Bucky’s tanned skin. The brunet moans wantonly and loses his grip on Steve’s pants as teeth gently graze his nipple. Steve warms his hands by massaging Bucky’s waist, his thumbs dipping closer and closer toward the brunet's aching cock. Steve shoves Bucky’s pants just far enough to free him from their confines and palms him, pinching his other nipple in his mouth at the same time. It draws a loud gasp from Bucky, whose back bows in pleasure, breath hissing through his teeth. He catches a mischievous glimmer in Steve’s eyes, dark with desire. He doesn’t know that his own pupils are blown wide, the thin circles of his irises glinting like silver in the starlight.

Keeping his coat and shirt on but unbuttoned, Steve lets Bucky help him out of his pants. His thin chest is exposed and Bucky pulls him down to press their skin together, sealing them together in another kiss that swallows Steve’s moan when their groins press together. One or both them of roll their hips, adding delicious friction to the mix. Bucky reaches down to grasp them both in his hand when Steve rears back, but the blond grabs his hand and shakes his head. He sucks Bucky’s fingers into his mouth, tongue swirling over calloused pads and— _oh_.

Steve leads Bucky’s spit-slick hand behind himself, pushing his ass back invitingly. Bucky moans again and brushes his fingers against Steve’s hole teasingly once, twice, three times, adding a hint of pressure at each pass to make the blond squirm. Warm precum slicks their cocks and Steve grinds down on him in revenge. Bucky cries out and pushes his first two fingers into Steve much more quickly than he intended but Steve gives no indication of pain. On the contrary, he moans wantonly and pushes his hips back, trying to take in even more. 

Bucky carefully fingers Steve open, trying to focus on his task while Steve does his level best to be distracting, writhing in pleasure, covering every inch of Bucky he can reach in kisses and nips, biting just a shade too hard at the side of his neck. Bucky thanks God that he’s so good at playing the dames—it means that he, at least, can wear Steve’s marks without raising suspicion. He’ll get sideways looks from some folks for being improper, but no one will know it’s not from a dame. So he raises his voice encouragingly when Steve bites down, wanting a rare reminder that he can keep for a few days at least. Steve tries to pull away but Bucky desperately cups the back of his head to keep him in place, whining his need.

“B-Buck, if I don’t stop I’ll mark ya up. It’s so high your collar won’t—”

“’S my birthday, ain’t it? Want it. Wanna reminder. Wanna make the guys at the docks ask hows I got it, tell ‘em I got someone gave me a helluva present. Make ‘em so jealous they’ll go cross-eyed with it, an’ me knowin’, feelin’ like you’re with me all day…”

Steve growls and attacks Bucky’s neck again, teeth clamping down painfully and lips sealing against skin to suck hard against Bucky’s wildly beating pulse. Just the feeling, like giving himself to Steve, like Steve wants to devour him and keep him forever, almost makes Bucky come on the spot. He throws his head back and cries out, breath shuddering as the fingers of his free hand tangle in Steve’s hair. Steve moans in answer, lapping at the blooming bruise he’s made and tasting a hint of blood. He doesn't know if he feels bad for biting too hard or pleased because Bucky obviously enjoyed it, reduced to trembling and feverish muttering. He decides to go with pleased and laps at the mark again, making Bucky shiver.

Bucky yanks him by the hair into a messy, filthy kiss. He moans into it when he tastes the coppery tang of his own blood. He can feel Steve moving above him but he’s too busy tasting himself and wondering how long the visible reminder of Steve’s love will stay.

Steve finds what he wants in one of his pockets and moves without breaking their kiss. He could have an asthma attack and he still wouldn’t break this kiss. It’s messy and too full of teeth and absolutely perfect. Bucky jumps and pulls away for a moment when the rubber touches him, but he dives back in almost immediately, talking through their small breaks for breath.

“Where’d you…? You brought…?”

“Present,” Steve replies simply. “An’ this.”

Bucky pushes his cock up into Steve’s grip as the blond spreads around the small amount of slick he’d managed to procure. His fingers join Bucky’s inside of himself, not wanting to waste what little lubrication he has, and he almost buckles as the brunet takes the opportunity to brush against his prostate. It makes him inhale sharply, Bucky’s warm breath getting drawn into his body and he doesn’t know it but Bucky is so fucking happy right now to be the blood in Steve’s veins and the breath in his lungs and when Steve lowers himself slowly onto his cock it’s so fucking perfect he could cry. They stop kissing but Steve doesn’t move away, his cerulean gaze burning into Bucky’s silver one, their breath pluming between them as Steve takes him all the way in.

Steve rocks his hips gently and it punches a groan out of Bucky, who loses focus for a moment as pleasure pulses everywhere Steve touches and echoes at the mark on his neck. He can hear Steve’s answering moan and then the blond is sitting back, grinding to take Bucky even deeper, the blanket clinging to his shoulders like a cloak as he tosses his head back and clamps his thighs tight around the older man’s waist, using his leverage to raise and impale himself on Bucky’s painfully hard cock again and again.

Bucky won’t last. He knows he won’t, not like this. Despite the biting cold, he feels hot, sweat popping out across his skin as he slowly loses his mind. He thinks he might be talking because his ears register a voice and Steve’s mouth doesn’t seem to be moving, but he neither knows nor cares if he’s making sense. The only thing that matters is the feeling of _Steve_. On him, around him, _in_ in him, fucking his tongue into Bucky’s mouth as Bucky fucks up into him helplessly, awash in sensation. Steve’s hands are fiery bands on his skin, exquisite torture that he never wants to end.

He reaches between them and takes Steve’s cock in his hand, pumping rhythmically until they’re both losing all sense of timing, hips thrusting erratically, giving way to the delirium of their impending climax.

Steve comes first, body going rigid, spine curved back in a graceful arc, head thrown back to show the pale column of his throat as he screams his pleasure to the world. Bucky thinks he looks like an angel, a fucking angel on top of him, his cries pure music and is this what the poor shepherds in the bible felt like, seeing such a glorious being so close as to be blinding? The giant moon frames his lover perfectly, the softer light haloing blond hair, illuminating milk-white skin and he’s so perfect, so perfect, his Stevie, there should be paintings, entire museums dedicated to his beauty and strength and goodness.

His orgasm crashes into him violently, making him shake and grip Steve’s hip much too tight, sight blurring as he struggles to keep his eyes open, drinking in the picture above him greedily. He can hear his voice roaring above Steve’s, calling his lover’s name, but it’s okay, it’s all right because there’s no one here but the two of them and God and Steve is definitely one of His angels so no one else has the right to judge and right now there’s no one around to even try.

Bucky comes back to himself, whimpering with strong aftershocks. Steve’s channel clenches periodically around him, milking him of everything he has to give. Steve is breathing hard, breath wheezing, but he’s not panicked and the breaths are still deep and even so everything is fine, wonderful, even. Despite feeling lightheaded and floaty from their lovemaking, Bucky recovers first. He eyes the pearly sheen of Steve’s come on his hand and brings it to his mouth to lick it clean. When he moves on to swiping it off his own chest, still savoring the taste like a delicacy, Steve moans and moves off Bucky. The brunet feels the loss keenly and wishes they could stay connected longer, but Steve has started to shiver, sweat cooling to chill his skin. 

“You’re killin’ me, Buck,” he pants, his eyes tracking as Bucky laps up the last fingerful of come with a lewd moan.

“You’re always tellin’ me I need to eat more,” Bucky says with a wicked smirk. Steve stops trying to button his pants to lean in and give Bucky another filthy kiss, tasting himself on Bucky’s tongue. Bucky traps him in an embrace and refuses to let go for long minutes, warming Steve’s cool body against the furnace of his own.

He releases the blond reluctantly when Steve’s shivering returns, the cold worming between them. Bucky helps the blond rearrange his layers first, then allows Steve to return the favor. As he does with everything else, Steve gives Bucky’s clothes his full attention, face adorably intense as though if he does things just right it will keep Bucky warmer for longer. He’s not wrong, though it won’t be Bucky’s body that stays warm long after Steve is done.

“There.” Steve braces his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, smiling down at the older man.

“Thanks, Stevie.”

“You hungry?”

“In a minute.” Bucky shifts until Steve gets the hint and settles his weight on Bucky completely, tangling their legs together and pillowing his head on the brunet’s shoulder. Bucky breathes in the smell of soap and paper and clean night air, smiling to himself as he holds Steve tight. Steve nuzzles Bucky’s neck again, brushing against that point of soreness, but he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he plants a soft kiss atop it and tugs the blanket higher, tucking the ends under Bucky’s shoulders and binding them together. Bucky can feel Steve’s heartbeat, strong and steady today inside that frail chest. There are days when it doesn’t beat so steadily or so well, and on those days Bucky wishes he could tear out his own heart and give it to the other man. But today Steve is solid and warm against him, and Bucky sears every moment into his memory.

“I love you, Stevie,” he whispers into messy blond hair. It’s a declaration and vow, and the moon and stars are his witnesses.

Steve tilts his head up to give Bucky a small smile. He loves how Steve smiles at him like this, his lips barely quirked but eyes full of emotion. Steve always smiles at Bucky with his eyes. 

“I love you too, Buck. Happy birthday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I look up when there would have actually been a supermoon in 1939 and find the one closest to Bucky’s birthday (March 10)? …Maybe. But I definitely didn’t look up the closest date to March 5th to see what the weather pattern seemed like in the New York area so I could extrapolate that temperatures would be in the 40s in the evenings/early mornings. That would just be ridiculous.


	21. Your Own Kink | Crossdressing (T)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I decided to go with crossdressing as suggested in the comments. Fair warning: this one got away from me. Check the rating. I apparently have no idea what I'm doing.
> 
> Set in my canon divergence where everyone lives together and there are fuzzy kittens and cotton candy all around. If you’ve never read/watched Harry Potter there are a couple references that might pass you by. The only relevant one is Polyjuice Potion, which turns you into another person for whom you have the DNA (skin, hair, etc).
> 
> Angst + feels = ???

It starts accidentally, when Bucky has nothing better to do and it’s Natasha’s turn to ‘babysit’ him. They only every do it when Steve is away for more than a few days. It’s not that they necessarily think he’s still dangerous (to them, anyway), but left to his own devices he tends to get antsy over how Steve might be doing until, next thing anyone knows, there’s one ex-Soviet-assassin sniping down targets that even blink at the good Captain wrong.

Yeah, he might have ruined a few missions like that, mostly for going in with limited intel. And a few agents might hold grudges still about being gently hit across the skull hard enough to knock them out. Oh, and the paperwork. No one ever likes paperwork.

Point being, it’s late at night and Natasha is sitting up with him, even putting down her book in favor of watching a movie with him. This one is Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. Bucky doesn’t think particularly highly of it, but it’s on Sam’s List (capital L and everything) so now he’s stuck watching the entire series. Of course, it’ll be nice to understand some of the more wild references Tony and Sam keep making about it. So far he’s cleared up the Nicky Fury/Voldemort references and why Clint hates being called a Muggle. 

But it’s when the characters are taking the Polyjuice Potion that Bucky gets engaged.

“Natalia, do you ever wish you could do _that_?” He gestures to the screen.

Natasha sweeps him a sideways look. Bucky is never this interested in movies that aren’t applicable in daily life. “What? Magic? I hate to tell you this, James, but we still haven’t developed that particular art in the future.”

He chucks an empty glass at her, which she catches easily. “Please get me more water if I’m to survive your dry wit.”

“You’re only saying that because I’m a woman.”

“Ah, exactly. What if you were a man? I would still say it, but what would your insult be then?”

Natasha eyes him critically and sets down the glass. “You meant do I ever wish I could be someone else? James, I’m built for espionage. I do that all the time.”

Bucky sighs. “I meant… Deeply. If you could… _be_ someone else. Not just for a job, but because you wish it. Be someone on the outside without losing you. Or… or to look as you are.”

“Oh, James.” Natasha moves to perch on the arm of his chair, wrapping him into a gentle hug.

Bucky blinks. His heart feels like it’s crying, but he’s never once since recovering as the Asset been able to make his actions match. Apparently expressing sorrow is something they beat out of him too. At least Natalia understands.

“Come. I’ll show you something.” He rises with her. JARVIS freezes the movie as they leave, taking the elevator from the communal floor to Natasha’s private quarters. She pulls him to a large side room with a long mirror taking up an entire wall. There’s an antique gramophone in one corner and shoes in varying states of abuse hanging on pegs on the wall. The studio is floored in dark wood and a hand railing hugs the back wall. He can see small pieces of tape in lines and x’s on the floor, seemingly at random.

Natasha looks at him expectantly, but he just shrugs. “It’s for dancing?”

“Ballet.” Natasha nods and goes to sift through records until she seems to find one that pleases her. She sets it and takes down a pair of shoes. “The Red Room took many things away from me. It was confusing and… terrible.” Her voice is calm as she laces the slippers on.

“I’m sorry.” Bucky knows he was part of that.

“Don’t be. It’s only a fact now.” She rises and touches the handle to her gramophone, which starts to turn by itself after the first push. Next is a heavy blindfold that she ties with the same care as her shoes, and then she’s off, striding to one of the marks and waiting. The staticky strains of an opera fill the room and Natalia _moves_.

Much of the balance and economy of movement is used in both ballet and killing, but it’s like Natalia forgets the dual purpose as she swings her body with perfect grace. What he can see of her expression is serene, almost smiling when she completes a particularly complex move. Her body sways and circles and _this_ is what she wanted him to see: that right now, she exists as a person she sees in her heart. She belongs in a world of music long past and movement that serves no other purpose than to tell a story. He can see the shape of it, her story. This one is about a violent love. There is space for an invisible second, presence shaped in the negative space of her dance.

When she finishes, taking off the blindfold and staring at herself for long seconds in the glass, Bucky knows better than to clap.

“So. Does that answer your question?” She stops the music with another touch, tucking away the blindfold and stripping off her shoes.

“Yes. But I don’t know how you can stand it, knowing what you do.”

“It’s something I decided was not allowed to be taken from me,” she tells him simply. “But I’ll admit that the first time I tried, I almost destroyed the room in my rage. It’s hard to see myself as anything but what I was made, even if I know better.” She lets out a long breath. “It’s why I wear a blindfold to practice. When I’m working on something new, and I must look at myself, I use these.”

She pads over to another room attached to the side, gesturing for Bucky to follow. It holds a small vanity, cosmetics, wigs, and outfits suited for practice or even productions.

“The point is that I want to become nothing but the dance. If I cannot do that while I look at myself, then I will look at the person the dance is for.”

Bucky silently runs his fingers over some of the clothing, drinking in the colors and smells. Some of the pieces are cut for men. He idles over one and looks to the redhead.

Natalia shrugs. “ _Whomever_ the dance is for, James.”

He nods in understanding and looks around a final time. “Thank you, Natalia. I think I might understand.”

She smiles and ushers him back to the elevator, carefully closing the doors behind her. “Good. Now let’s finish that awful movie.”

*

It takes a while after that to figure out who he is and who he wants to be. Who he _is_ is complicated. He’s so in between, still trying to make a new identity for himself from the broken pieces of two others, that he doesn’t know how to nurture that tiny, delicate seed. It’s when he’s watching Steve pick out a shirt (an ugly shirt that Bucky will have to burn soon) that he remembers that he used to like the feeling of being handsome. Not just for others, but for himself. He has memories of styling his hair, of grinning in the mirror or ironing creases into clothes. Vain, maybe, but vanity is selfish and something just for himself is exactly what he needs.

So he does some research and buys some clothes and styles his hair in the mirror. But all he sees when he looks is a pale imitation of the Bucky he used to be and will never be again. He rips everything apart and goes back to his simple jeans and shirts, brooding for days. Steve doesn’t help by asking what’s wrong and making earnest efforts to cheer him up like a puppy eager to please his master. It feels like kicking a puppy, too, to snarl at Steve and say he just wants his space, but he does it anyway because this isn’t something Steve can help with.

It isn’t until he’s wandering through an art gallery with Steve and Sam that he gets the idea.

He does different research, but it’s too overwhelming. He knows that Natasha could help, but he doesn’t want another assassin’s opinion. He wants an impartial one. So he calls Pepper.

*

He expects Pepper to be more… something. Judgmental. Baffled. Nonplussed, at least. But he supposes she’s Tony’s CEO for a reason. When he asks, she only takes a moment to process it before smiling and telling him that she’ll clear a day for him next week.

She helps him with the shopping—all of it. And she puts the expenses on her card because, she says, she wants to help. He figures that it doesn’t matter since Tony will be footing the bill one way or another. But Pepper takes things a step further and shows him as much as he wants to know. She practices with him and, when he curses and throws a bottle of mascara across the room at eleven at night, she gently suggests that it’s been an overwhelming day for them both and rearranges to have another day out of the office the following week as well.

*

Bucky eyes himself critically in the mirror. Being ambidextrous with hands so steady he can shoot the wings off a fly from five hundred yards apparently means nothing when he’s trying to put eyeliner on evenly. He honestly doesn’t know how Pepper and Natasha do it so quickly. Natasha can be ready for a night on the town in less than thirty minutes, and he’s pretty sure that Pepper just rolls out of bed looking ready for board meetings.

The biggest challenge is layering on so many products that everything goes from being dramatic and comes right out the other side into subtlety again. He feels centered when he does this. It’s like a ritual; one that isn’t tainted with any former memories but makes him feel… different. Unique. It’s something to hug to his heart and call his own.

He slides on dark stockings and clips them to garters before settling a dress over everything. It’s velvet—he loves velvet. It’s rich and luxurious and, best of all, warm. Pepper started him out in silk and angora and cotton so fine it felt like air, but even though he liked what she picked out in terms of looks, nothing had _felt_ right. It wasn’t until last month that she sent him something in velvet, but he’s been addicted ever since.

Between Pepper and her more interesting friends, some of which are what he came to realize were something called transsexual, he’d managed to minimalize some of his bulky, blocky shape into something softer. He doesn’t think this is about wanting to be a woman, or even anything about sexual or romantic allure. It’s just… something he does for _him_. He never pretends that he’s anyone but James Buchanan Barnes even on his rare expedition out to the more discrete establishments. It’s not just that he’s too recognizable; after all, how many people have an entirely metal prosthetic arm? It’s more that this isn’t something he particularly cares to share. Not because he’s ashamed, but because it’s _his_. Like Natasha, this is something he does to loosen something deep inside. That makes him vulnerable, and he can count on one hand with fingers to spare how many people he trusts with that.

It took a lot of experimentation and restlessness, but he finally found what turns out to be the last part of his ritual. He slides a blue band around his left arm, covering the hated star etched into the metal there. It’s the blue of Steve’s eyes, or as close as fabric can be dyed to match. Steve is part of him now, maybe always has been, and he’d rather see that clashing with whatever colors he dons than the bright red of flags and blood.

He _still_ doesn’t understand heels (“They make your calves and ass look nice,” Pepper told him dryly. “Not that you need the help.”) but they force him to move differently, which helps everything click into place. He feels something deep inside of him unknot as soon as he’s finished. There’s something to be said about a job well done. He feels beautiful and the knowledge that he did this transformation _himself_ is irreplaceable.

As always, he’s decided to do this while Steve was out on a mission. Since he’d stopped going AWOL and started hanging around Pepper, the others stopped babysitting him and started trusting him to his own devices. The exception for the first couple of months was Tony, but Bucky suspects it had more to do with jealousy of the brunet walking around with the engineer’s girlfriend more than anything else. Bucky dragged Stark out of his lab one day, practically forced him into a suit, shoved him into a limo with the waiting Happy and Pepper and a casual remark that “I arranged everything as a thank-you. Have fun, kids.” Tony let up after that.

While he used to hate the feeling and the memories that ran hot on the trail of being alone for too long, he doesn’t mind it as much any more. He practices different looks or perfects a new makeup technique (Youtube never ceases to amaze) or, on days like this, just wanders around Steve’s empty apartment and decides what he’d like to do with his night. Even though he has his own rooms, Bucky drags his things to Steve’s when he can. Home will always be with Steve, and Bucky mostly uses his apartment for storage these days.

Cooking, he thinks. He wants to put one of those stupid, petty reality shows on the television and cook something nice. He can save a portion for Steve to eat later, so he doesn’t have to split a recipe to cook for one. Of course, all the recipes he uses are for families of four or more, but he’s not so confident in his culinary skills that he wants to deviate too much. If Steve isn’t back in two days, he can always eat the leftovers himself and make something new.

He’s checking on the dinner rolls (pre-made; he’s not _that_ good) when he hears the unmistakable click of the front door opening. He has a kitchen knife in hand and ready to fly when he realizes the intruder is Steve.

Steve, who isn’t due back for another two days at best.

Steve, who he still hasn’t told this particular secret and who, like Bucky, grew up in a time where this kind of thing would land a man in jail.

The knife clatters to the ground as they lock gazes. Steve looks… poleaxed. Confused. Flummoxed. It’s terrifying.

“Th-this isn’t what it looks like,” Bucky hears himself stammer. “I mean, it is, but it’s not… not what you think.” He’s not ashamed, he’s _not_ , but he doesn’t know how to explain this yet, and Steve looks like his brain might explode trying to process what he’s seeing. “It isn’t—I mean, I was going to tell you, I just… I don’t know how to say it,” he finishes lamely.

Steve approaches him cautiously, like a skittish foal. Since Bucky pretty much feels like one, it’s not a bad assumption. “So… ah… Buck, I just wanna understand, yeah?” His confusion leaks through his accent, breaking all the training he got in not speaking like a native New Yorker for those war reels. “Do you… Does this mean you want—”

Bucky can see where this is headed. “I’m happy as a fella, Steve. And I don’t want no one to see me different, and it’s not for kicks or to make a point. I just… It’s something that’s mine. Something I never had so HYDRA could never take it or twist it or break it. Something that… Steve, for the love a’ Christ, say something!”

“’S a lot to take in.”

Bucky tries to hide his misery. He knows Steve is right, that it’s a lot to process. He took months and can’t expect Steve to reach the same conclusions in a handful of minutes. “Okay.” He nods. “Yeah, I know. I’ll just… And then we can…” He turns off the oven and slips past Steve, into the bedroom. It’ll be easier for Steve to talk if he’s not so distracted, and they do need to talk. He sits down and takes a deep, bracing breath before looking for the makeup remover he knows he brought.

“What’re ya doin’?” Bucky almost jumps out of his skin as Steve’s hand circles his wrist. Was he really so distracted that he didn’t hear the blond come up behind him?

“It’ll be easier to talk if I’m not…” Bucky gestures to the dress. Steve tugs him gently and he goes, allowing himself to be led to the bed.

Steve takes a few deep breaths, closing his eyes for long moments before pinning Bucky with the full intensity of his gaze.

“Buck, I don’t know if I get it all the way. Probably not. Maybe not right now, maybe never. I don’t know. But you said you was gonna tell me an’ I believe that. Ya never hid anythin’ important from me before, so I trust when you say you din’t know how. I can get that. My reaction probably just made you think whatever you were thinking seem ‘bout right.” Steve takes another deep breath and grips Bucky’s chin when the brunet makes to look away. “But, Buck, listen t’me. Listen. I might not understand all the way, but that don’t mean I don’t accept it. And you. If there’s anythin’ I’ve always been sure if, it’s my Momma’s love, the goodness of others, and my faith in you. Everythin’ else is negotiable.”

Bucky isn’t sure he wants to keep looking at Steve. He’s not sure if he’s more scare to see a lie or the truth. But Steve shakes him gently by the chin and ducks until Bucky is forced to look at him again.

“If you never believe another word I say, believe this: I love you unconditionally. If dressin’ like a dame is something you need or like or… or… or it keeps your demons at bay… Then I’m happy. You say it ain’t for a lark an’ I can see that. Just means I love it more, ‘cause it’s more a’ you I didn’t know existed for me to love.”

He has to ask, even though he can see the truth of it in those blue eyes. “You _really_ think that, Stevie?”

“Yes.” And he does, he really does. Bucky can see it shining in his eyes and heart and soul. “But if you don’t want to talk about it right now, we don’t hafta.”

Bucky can only nod dumbly. Steve lets him go, twining the fingers of one hand through Bucky’s and settling the other on the small of his back, fingers carefully brushing against the velvet.

“Is it okay to tell you I like the fabric? It’s soft.”

Bucky nods.

Steve leans in, eyes soft. “Then is it okay to tell you that you look gorgeous? Not as a dame, just as _you_.”

Bucky takes a sharp breath and his eyes cut to Steve’s, but he’s met with nothing but warmth. Distantly, he can feel himself nod.

“And is to okay to tell you I love you?” Steve’s words ghost over Bucky’s plush lips. He can feel Steve applying a hint of pressure to his back; tightening his grip in their clasped hands.

Eyes fluttering shut, Bucky nods once more and leans in for a kiss. His lipstick is a little tacky and tastes waxy but Steve doesn’t seem to care. He kisses with all the innocence and intensity he used on their first kiss, and the one they shared when Bucky was ready to pick up their relationship again. It’s a kiss meant to share, not devour; it’s gentle rays of sun warming the soul and coaxing love to the surface like delicate flowers bursting towards the sky. Bucky whimpers into it, realizing all at once that this is something he needs, too. This is something all his; something that never changed or broke or was lost, not even when HYDRA tried to take everything else.

When they pull apart, Steve’s lips are mussed with delicate pink paint and his hands carefully frame Bucky’s face. He leans in to rest their foreheads together. Bucky can feel himself calming down, his breathing matching Steve’s steady pace.

“I love you, James Buchanan Barnes. _All_ of you. Even the parts neither of us know about yet. I’m with you til the end of the line.”

And for the first time in more than sixty years, Bucky Barnes cries.


	22. Crossdressing Pt 2 (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since my last one got away from me, I’m trying this again. Didn’t want to throw away my old work so this one is more in the spirit of the challenge (see rating!) and works off of the old one. However, if you skipped the last chapter, all you need to know is that Bucky crossdresses in the privacy of his own home as… kind of a therapy?
> 
> Canon divergent, everyone is happy (relatively) and lives in the Tower. Huzzah!
> 
> I apologize again for the chapter previous. I seriously don’t know what happened and it seemed wrong to add erotica to it at the end. Hopefully this makes up for it.

Steve thinks he understands Bucky a little better now. Bucky still prefers to dress up when he’s alone for the most part, and Steve respects that. Everyone has something for themselves. He’s only lucky that his is art and thus fairly portable. He treats it like the gift it is when Bucky decides to share those days with him. It means he’s letting Steve in, not just physically but emotionally. He wonders if he can even compare the feeling of showing Bucky his most private drawings with how the brunet must feel on those days. Exposed. Worried that he might not understand. Hopeful that he will, but hating that hope at the same time. So vulnerable it hurts.

That means that one day when he gets home on no particular time on no particular day and finds Bucky wearing a new dress, hair done up in curls and heels tall enough to put them of a height, all he feels is grateful. Bucky is wearing a hairpin Steve bought for him on his last mission out. It’s a thing of silver and enamel, thin enough to see through but sturdy enough to survive a fall. Or three. They weren’t gentle with Steve’s luggage. He didn’t know it would affect him to deeply to see Bucky wearing something Steve gave him.

Bucky obviously cooked something earlier. He’s leaning on the kitchen bar counter and watching the television in an absent way as he mops up his plate with a piece of bread: a leftover habit from harder times. His eyes slide to Steve as he pops the bite of bread into his mouth and offers a shy smile. “Got hungry and didn’t know how long you’d be out. Sorry.”

“I don’t mind. What’re you watchin’?”

“Er… It’s called The Bachelor? It’s really stupid, but at least I don’t have to pay attention to it. Same thing happens every time, but with different people or just less of them. I sort of have a bet with Clint about who he gives the last rose to this season.”

“Sounds like Clint.” Steve snorts and gives Bucky a kiss on his way past.

“I did save you some. It’s in the microwave.”

Steve finds the promised food and brings it over, wolfing it down while keeping one eye on the show. Bucky’s right. It _is_ stupid. Nonetheless, he finds himself arguing over which girl will be kept simply for the drama she provides, and which one is too crazy to allow to continue. It makes Bucky relax and he even laughs. Steve would watch the most mind-numbing, IQ-dropping shows in the world to hear Bucky laugh like that.

He chooses to clean up after dinner, since Bucky cooked, and Bucky sneakily brings him plates and pans and lines up dishtowels until Steve rolls his eyes and banishes the other man from the kitchen completely.

He finds himself in a good mood and, as always happens when he’s feeling good (or sad, or worried, or… okay, almost always) his thoughts stray to Bucky. His ass always look fantastic, but there’s something about heels that really draw the eye. He likes that Bucky can stare him in the face, too. It’s more like it used to be, when Steve was small and frail. He knows that’s not the point, not for Bucky, but it makes _Steve_ feel good. And Steve might not know much about clothes, but he knows that velvet is something they could never have afforded in the forties—it definitely lives up to the reputation, though. It’s soft and smooth at the same time, and it’s warm as sin. In an idle way he wonders if that means his boyfriend has good taste, or if their taste in fabrics are equally uneducated.

When he enters the bedroom, Bucky is fiddling behind himself to get at the zipper of his dress. He meets Steve’s eye briefly in the mirror but makes no comment. Steve slides in behind him and bats away his searching hands. Bucky sighs and resigns himself. Now he knows why ladies always seem to roam in packs: if there was an emergency you’d be stuck in impractical clothes until someone came to stare at your back.

But instead of unzipping him right away, Steve leans in and presses a kiss to the first knob of Bucky’s spine, inhaling softly as he does. Bucky shivers as he feels cool lips against his skin.

“Whatever you put in your hair smells nice, Buck.”

“I put a lot of shit in my hair. I don’t know which one you’re smellin’.” He shivers again as Steve kisses the second knob of his spine, warm breath fanning against his skin. “Stevie…”

Steve unzips the dress excruciatingly slowly, planting precise kisses on every bit of exposed skin. Bucky makes the mistake of looking in the mirror again and finds Steve staring back at him, blue eyes gleaming dark and predatory. “Stevie…” he says again. This time it’s a question and a plea.

“Watch the mirror, Buck.” Steve pauses his nibbling and stares until Bucky manages to nod. “Good.” He leaves a lingering kiss on an exposed bit of shoulder and walks around to face his lover. He gives Bucky a proper kiss, lapping into his mouth for a taste and letting one hand wander south. He’s relieved to feel that Bucky is almost as hard as he is. It would be awkward to find out differently, or if Bucky were to get angry and push him away. He breaks the kiss to check, but so far Bucky only seems dazed. As promised, his eyes flick from Steve to their reflection in the mirror.

Pleased, Steve sinks to his knees and slides his hands up smooth, stocking-clad legs to flip up the hem of the plush dress. One of Bucky’s hands shoots out, landing to the side of the mirror with a loud thump when Steve breathes over his cock. The silk panties had always seemed so _practical_ before, because they never caught on the fabric and never showed lines. But Bucky realizes that they offer a total of zero protection against Steve Roger’s wicked mouth. The blond glances up briefly before nosing up the line of Bucky’s shaft, nuzzling in until the skirt rides over his head. There’s a long, breathless pause that makes Bucky shiver with anticipation, and then Steve’s mouth descends over his head, tongue swiping roughly across the slit as Steve fits his lips around Bucky’s cock and dips down. He takes Bucky in almost to the root in one go, punching a breath from the brunet as he almost doubles over in surprise, one hand still planted on the wall and the other now clutching the back of Steve’s head. 

Silky blond strands get caught in Bucky’s metal grip, the plating pilling a few golden strands and making Steve groan. Bucky hisses at the sensation and can’t help but move his hips, rocking into that hot mouth and feeling Steve gag at the intrusion. Steve’s throat constricting around him makes the brunet’s knees almost buckle. He tries to hold his hips still, lips outlining silent apologies, but Steve only makes a deep moaning noise and sucks noisily up, stopping with an obscene pop.

“I want you to, Buck.” Steve grips Bucky’s hand in his hair and plants it more firmly, a silent command for him to fuck Steve’s face. Bucky stares at himself in the mirror, dazed, and tries to process what’s happening. Steve doesn’t leave him much time, though, releasing Bucky’s hand so he can use both thumbs to hook around the elastic of Bucky’s panties and pull them down to catch just under his balls before letting them pull tight again, the firm elastic in sharp contrast to its silk covering. It creates exquisite pressure and, combined with Steve bracing himself in Bucky’s hips before taking him in all the way, Bucky can’t _not_ give in. He grabs the back of Steve’s head and starts pistoning his hips just fast enough to make Steve gag almost every time. 

Steve loves it. He won’t deny that he gets off on giving Bucky pleasure, and his only regret is that he can’t watch the brunet lose control. He can _feel_ it, though, and makes more noise than he usually would, playing up the gagging and rumbling his throat so he can feel Bucky’s core clench and tremble.

Bucky looks up at himself, wide-eyed. His hair is falling out of its bun, curls bedraggled, sweat-drenched and sticking to his face. His cheeks have given in to the darker flush creeping over his skin, and the eyeliner makes his pupils look even more fucked-out than ever. He watches the reflection of Steve’s back ripple as he rocks his head down to meet Bucky’s thrusts, then catches his own reflection again. He stops hearing anything but the blood pound in his ears, stops seeing anything but the pleasure-stricken look on his own face, stops feeling anything other than the slide of his cock in Steve’s mouth and the steely grip of Steve’s hands on his hips.

Steve suddenly lets Bucky slip further down his throat, as deep as he can get, and _swallows_. The pressure is too much and Bucky comes, shouting, down Steve’s throat. Struggling through tears and his orgasm, Bucky manages to catch blurry glimpses of himself in the mirror: His metal hand cupping the back of Steve’s head almost lovingly; the dark spread of his eyeshadow, diluted by the sweat misting his face; his lipstick blurred from its soft lines, smudged in Steve’s assault on his mouth.

He can’t hear himself shouting Steve’s name but the blond does. He would groan if he could around the length in his throat, but as it is he just swallows, working his throat until Bucky withdraws, whimpering and spent. He finds his way out of under the skirt and licks his lips lewdly, making Bucky emit a pitchy, hopeless moan.

“I’m guessing that was okay, then,” Steve husks.

Bucky almost collapses on top of him. Steve is worried for a minute until he feels Bucky snaking a hand towards his groin. “Whoa, wait a second.”

Bucky gives him a bewildered, feverish look. “Stevie, you didn’t—let me…”

Steve kisses Bucky hard, shoving his tongue in the other man’s mouth to shut him up, bringing his hands up to cup Bucky’s jaw.

“I’m fine right now.”

“But—”

“In a minute.” Steve kisses Bucky’s temple and smiles reassuringly in response to the small, lost look he gets from the brunet. “I don’t want to ruin your dress. Let’s get that off first, yeah?”

“Stevie, it’s not fair if—”

Steve sighs loudly and mock-glares at his lover. “Buck, _please_ don’t make me have to tell you that I came in my pants like a damn teenager.”

For some reason that goes straight to Bucky’s overstimulated cock. Even _he_ can’t get it back up quite that fast, but his body is certainly putting in a valiant effort.

He gives in and lets Steve peel him out of the dress, the blond draping it lovingly across the back of a chair, much like he would one of his suits. He removes the panties before he destroys them completely and lets Steve sling him into the bed, the blond following after. 

Steve toys happily with Bucky’s hair; a new habit he’d formed when they’d started being lovers again. This time, though, he teases out the hair pins that had been holding his bun in place, massaging Bucky’s scalp every three or so. He keeps going until Bucky is so relaxed that he feels like so much dead weight slumping on Steve’s chest. Bucky spends a few idle minutes listening to the comforting thud of Steve’s heart before peering up from darkened lashes.

Steve is playing with something in the brunet’s hair, a fond and faraway look in his eyes. Bucky twists and tries to figure out what might be causing the nostalgia and flinches when he pulls too hard on his own hair. Steve jumps and lets go immediately.

“No, my fault, moved to fast,” Bucky mutters. “What were you even looking at?”

“Your hairpin,” Steve admitted sheepishly. “The one I bought you. You wore it today.”

“Yeah, that’s the point of giving people stuff to wear, Stevie. So they can wear it. What, you like me wearin’ your stuff?”

“You know I do, but that’s not really what I meant. You know why I bought this pin in particular for you?”

Bucky feels Steve pull the pin free, so he tips his head until he can see the enamel flower. “I guess I just thought you liked it for me. Because you thought it was pretty?”

“That too. But, no, that’s not actually the reason.” His voice goes distant and fragile, the way it does when he’s remembering something he thought he’d lost. “Do you remember…? You might not. I mean, I barely do, so I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t. Anyway, remember how we used to run off into the park when we were younger? Way before, when I didn’t think there was a chance in hell that you’d like me, but I was always so damn happy you were stickin’ around.”

“Anyway, there was this one morning in… April, I guess it had to be. I think you’d just gone fifteen because I remember you were steppin’ out with Debbie Westfield behind her poppa’s back. It was real early in the morning and there were all these morning glories everywhere. And you pulled off a few and made ‘em into a crown and set it on my head and told me that you’d given one to Debbie but she’d just yelled about bugs bein’ in it, but you knew I’d appreciate it. Then you told me I looked sweeter in it than she ever could.”

Steve lowers the pin so they can both look at the design on the head: Morning Glories, glowing in warm tones of blue and pink and amethyst. Bucky covers Steve’s hand with his.

“Hearing you say that to me made me about the happiest I’d been in… years, really. Felt like I could take on the world with just those words.” He gives a deep sigh. “Buck. I guess what I’m trying to say is that… I think I get it, a little. And I hope we didn’t do anything you didn’t wanna, since I know you don’t dress for anyone but you. But please don’t be sore if I think that seeing you so confident gets me going. Next time, I can try to wait, if you’d rather.”

Steve is so earnest and gentle. “I was just… surprised,” Bucky says slowly. “What you said, though. I kind of remember it. A little. Enough. I didn’t know it made you feel that way. I probably fueled your pig-headedness for at least the next three years from the sound of it.”

“At _least_.”

“I’d be a hypocrite to say that confidence shouldn’t be attractive: That’s one of those things I’ve always loved about you. I guess you leave me no other choice.” Bucky sighs dramatically. “I’m just going to have to believe that you mean it and that you’re hopelessly, foolishly in love with me.”

He meant for that to come out teasing, but his tone betrays him and it wavers in the air between them.

Steve crushes Bucky to his chest, pressing his face into knotted brown hair. “It’s not foolish of me to love someone as wonderful as you, Buck.” Steve’s voice is thick with tears.

Bucky thought that after all this, _he_ would be the one feeling emotional. He curls his body around Steve’s protectively and lays a hand on the side of Steve’s face, keeping them tangled together. “Shhh. It’s all right. I’ll… I’m working on believing that one day, Stevie. Give me some time.” He smiles a little as Steve shifts until he can nose into the crook of Bucky’s neck.

“After all, I _did_ fall in love with a stubborn little punk. And I don’t think I’ll ever be able to forget it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What are endings I don’t know fkgueyhbnnomw.


	23. Shower Sex (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the kudos and comments! <3 They really mean a lot to me and keep me going. Also, any opinions on new sex positions? >_> I'm apparently less kinky than I thought because these prompts have already burned through most of my knowledge of positions.  
> =
> 
> Takes place after Chapter 4 (First Time). If you don’t want to read it, it’s pretty self-explanatory. 
> 
> Set in AU divergence where everyone lives in the Tower and everything is awesome.
> 
> Guys, I don’t know what I even.

Bucky rouses Steve from sleep a couple hours later. Steve makes an adorable noise of protest and Bucky is tempted to let him stay asleep, but he knows that Steve will be happier tomorrow if he’s had a shower.

“Steve, c’mon. We’ll even use that stupid towel heater for once. C’mon,” Bucky coaxes. Steve opens his eyes and scowls, but makes no other move.

“Okay, I didn’t want to do this.” Bucky lunges in and blows a raspberry against Steve’s neck, making it as loud and obnoxious as humanly possible. Steve yells and rolls too far, falling off the bed in a tangle of limbs and blankets.

“Augh! Buck, what are you, five?!”

Bucky laughs loudly and scrambles off the opposite side of the bed. He makes it all the way to the shower and manages to turn the knob before Steve tackles him, slinging him to the floor and sticking his tongue in Bucky’s ear.

“God, that’s disgusting! Who’s five _now_ Steve?!” Bucky glares up at the triumphant blond and rubs at his own ear with one hand. “I was just trying to get you up so you wouldn’t be so sore tomorrow!”

Steve gives Bucky a look of infinite patience. “Buck, I heal cuts in a few hours. You have to slam me through a wall to bruise me now. You really think I’ll be sore in the morning?”

Bucky thinks about it and fights a blush. There will always be a part of him that worries for Steve. That part sometimes forgets that the blond is much more hardy than he had been in the forties. It’s the same part that still makes him dive in front of bullets for the Captain; the same part that sees red the moment Steve’s blood spills on the ground.

“I’m just lookin’ out for ya,” he mutters.

Steve’s look softens. “I know.” He helps Bucky up so they’re both standing in the warm spray. “Here, I’ll let you wash my back for me, like you used to.”

“Very self-sacrificing of you,” Bucky drawls as he picks up a washcloth.

“That’s me.” Steve turns so Bucky can see his broad back. Really, Bucky is happy. Steve never lets Bucky do little things like this anymore and the brunet has missed it. Sure, there’s much more of him to scrub, but it still reminds him of the small punk in Brooklyn he first fell in love with.

Bucky keeps washing his lover with careful strokes, massaging as he goes. Steve doesn’t protest, though his posture goes stiff for a few seconds when Bucky starts. This, too, is something they used to do back in Brooklyn, but even then Steve protested it. Even when his whole body ached and fought him, Steve was too stubborn and too proud to be ‘babied,’ as he put it. Bucky never saw it that way; it was another good reason to put his hands on his lover, to show how much he cared for the smaller man. So when Steve lets Bucky continue his ministrations, the brunet feels a warm glow settle in his chest.

When he’s done, Steve silently takes the washcloth and soap and starts running his hands over the brunet. Bucky sighs happily and leans into Steve’s touch. This is something less nostalgic, but it’s still nice. Steve started doing this after Bucky started staying in the Tower, back when he had still be touch-starved. He stopped eventually and seemed to worry that if he did it again it might remind Bucky about his forced helplessness at the hands of HYDRA, but really Bucky had nothing but fond memories of Steve’s hands pressing into his skin. Truthfully, he’d missed this.

He’s lost reminiscing and doesn’t notice the low, pleasured moans he utters, or the effect it’s having on the blond. He doesn’t notice anything until he feels Steve’s slick hand circle his member, making him cry out. He goes from half-hard to fully erect almost instantly, arcing into Steve’s touch as he twists his wrist around the head of Bucky’s cock. He can feel the blond nibbling the skin of his shoulder and gives a full-body shudder as Steve grinds his erection against Bucky’s ass.

Bucky exhales loudly and grinds back, turning his head so he can look at Steve over his shoulder. “Really, Stevie? I’ve created a monster.”

“You’re just addictive.” Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist and tightens them as he grinds him together again, their breathy gasps lost in the hiss of water all around them. Bucky turns in his arms and kisses him fiercely, losing himself in the taste and the pulse of their bodies sliding against each other.

It feels like too short a time before Steve is pulling away, rolling his forehead against the crook of Bucky’s neck. “Buck, _please_.”

Bucky gives him another crushing kiss and nods, popping out of the shower to rummage in one of the drawers. Knife, knife, elastic… lube. He’s back in Steve’s arms before the blond loses his lust-hazed look, setting the lube on one of the shower’s shelves before kissing him senseless a third time.

Steve moans into Bucky mouth, rutting against him helplessly. Bucky inhales sharply and rolls his hips, whimpering at the sweet friction. Steve breaks off the pant in the air between them. Bucky can see his lips move to form a plea, but the only sound that emerges is a thin whine. He smirks.

“C’mon, Steve,” he murmurs. He walks back until his back is against one cool stone wall, mostly out of the warm spray. Steve follows, eyes glazed, water running in rivulets down his neck and chest; catching in his long blond lashes. They kiss again and Bucky starts to form half an idea. He grabs one of Steve’s hands and leads it to his ass, letting go when Steve gets with the program and starts massaging one firm cheek.

“Mmm. More,” Bucky grunts. Steve complies easily, watching in fascination as the brunet shudders in his arms while his fingers dip between Bucky’s cheeks and circle his hole. Bucky pushes back shamelessly when Steve applies pressure and raises his voice to encourage the gentle intrusion. Spreading his legs a little, he reels Steve in for another kiss and rocks back against his calloused digit eagerly.

Bucky breaks off the kiss and turns to lean the flats of his arms against the wall, spreading his legs even wider in invitation. When a second passes and he doesn’t feel Steve’s hands on him again, he glances over his shoulder. Steve is standing frozen behind him, lust and panic reflected in almost equal measure.

“Buck, I don’t know how… I mean, what if I hurt you?”

“What happened to practicing?” he teases gently. He’s already reaching back for the lube.

“Yeah, on _myself_. It’s different… you know.”

Bucky draws Steve in by one wrist and passes off the lube. “It’s not that different. Here, I’ll help.” He waits patiently as Steve squeezes lube onto their fingers before sliding his hand around Steve’s to guide him. He presses the blond to his waiting hole and hisses between his teeth as Steve breaches him and starts pumping gently. “Good, yeah.” He glances back again and is relieved to find lust rapidly overcoming the blond’s anxiety. “I don’t mind a little pain. I, uh… Actually kind of like it. Just start off slow, like I did you.” 

Bucky slides one of his own fingers in alongside Steve’s and works with the other man to stretch himself out at a good pace, moaning again at the strange but welcome sensation of Steve’s gentle strokes alongside his eager ones. When he glances over his shoulder again, Steve is staring down between them in fascination, watching them pump in and out of Bucky’s ass. Just the expression on Steve’s face makes Bucky even harder and his hole clenches, trying to keep them in.

Suddenly, Steve growls and bats Bucky’s hand away, taking over the stretch and burn himself and leaving the brunet to lean against the wall. Before the pain can truly fade, Steve adds a third finger and curls them, brushing against Bucky’s prostate and making him shout. He can only imagine Steve’s satisfied look as the blond leans in to bite as his neck while he repeats the motion again and again, edging Bucky closer to his orgasm with just his fingers.

“Steve!” Bucky isn’t aware that he’s moving his hips in time to Steve’s pumping rhythm. “You better fuckin’—ah!”

He’s surprised by Steve sliding in quickly, already lubed and so much more satisfying in every way than his fingers. The blond doesn’t stop until he’s completely engulfed in his lover, hips flush to Bucky’s ass and his arms wrapped around the brunet’s waist.

“Language,” Steve murmurs into damp skin. Bucky would laugh or groan or flip him off or _something_ , but then Steve starts moving and he forgets everything else.

Sharp, staccato bursts of his hips make their skin slap together obscenely, Steve cock never truly leaving Bucky’s body. And as if that weren’t enough, the blond is apparently some kind of natural because after a minute or so he nudges Bucky’s feet further apart so he can grab one of his thighs in one strong hand and _lift_ it, the new angle penetrating deeper than before and making Bucky turn the air blue with curses. Soon the brunet is well and truly using the wall for support, one foot similarly braced as Steve fucks into him so hard that he gasps with it, each thrust enough to punch the breath from his lungs.

Pulling his leg up forces his muscles to compensate and it makes Steve’s considerable size feel even bigger. Bucky is crying with the pleasure spiking through him and he knows he won’t last. He thinks he’s chanting Steve’s name—Steve is certainly chanting _his_ \-- and he’s vaguely relieved to feel the blond’s rhythm falter and become reckless, pounding into Bucky almost brutally. Bucky suck in a deep breath as Steve suddenly slows, shaking, and pulls out so that only his head remains trapped in Bucky’s heat. He rolls his forehead against Bucky’s overheated skin before whispering directly into his ear:

“Bucky, come for me.” He says it like a question but he doesn’t give the other man time to reply before he’s slamming back in, grinding them together when he’s as deep as he can get. Bucky screams his name and his forehead hits the wall hard. He can hear his left arm whir and creak as he clenches his fists tight. Steve pulls back for another long stroke.

“Come.” Bucky cries out again and slams the wall with his metal fist. _thud_

“ _Come_.”

_Thud_

“COME!”

_THUD_

And he does. Bucky bursts apart at the seams as Steve holds him tight, hearing his own screams mingled with Steve’s ringing through the large bathroom. He can feel Steve fill him up, spreading delicious heat through his core as his cock pulses for endless moments.

Their breath comes in harsh pants, but Steve doesn’t wait for either of them to recover before he’s spinning Bucky around in his arms and kissing him again. They stay like that, entwined and kissing, Steve tracing patterns up and down Bucky’s back and hips and ass, until a niggling part of Bucky’s brain suggests that the hot water will run out. It’s almost impossible, of course, with Stark’s technology and probably endless hot water supply, but apparently part of his brain still counts time like that, and it seems as good as stopping point as any. Besides, just because they _can_ stay under the hot water for hours doesn’t mean they _should_. Water conservation or something, like Bruce is always on about.

Bucky pulls away reluctantly and lets Steve help him scrub down again, returning the favor with no small amount of petting involved. It’s only when Steve steps out to grab the warm towels while Bucky turns off the taps that he realizes something is wrong.

Cracks spider across the stone about where Bucky’s left hand would be if he held it close to his face, and he notices to his chagrin that water seems to be seeping through the wall. Come to think of it, the pressure coming from the central shower head isn’t quite what it was in the beginning either. That, and no matter how he tries to turn the handles, the water won’t cut off. He turns to see Steve waiting for him patiently and gestures to the useless silver knobs with a sheepish look.

Steve’s only response is to burst out laughing. Bucky tries to muster a glare but can’t quite manage, choosing instead to leave the shower and snatch a towel away from Steve’s trembling hands.

“Shut it, punk. It’s your fault in the first place.” Steve just keeps letting out little snorting noises as he tries to suppress more laughter. Bucky hides a grin and rolls his eyes. “JARVIS, cut the water to the shower, will you?”

_:Of course, Sergeant. Shall I put in a repair order?:_

“Yeah, thanks. No rush, though. We can always use mine.” Bucky swats Steve sharply with his wet towel, making the blond jump and yelp. Smirking, Bucky drapes the towel over his shoulders and saunters out of the bathroom.

“Coming, Rogers?”

=

**BONUS**

Tony and Clint are playing what must be the most intense game of Jenga _ever_ when Tony’s phone goes off on the counter beside them. Clint frowns but doesn’t waver as he teases out a wooden block.

“Distracting me with technology is cheating, Tony,” he scolds.

Tony looks affronted and picks up his phone. “I don’t need to cheat to beat you, Barton.” He scrolls through the message, frowning slightly. Clint catches his look as he rests the block on top of the tower.

“What is it?”

“JARVIS put in a repair order for the good Captain’s shower. And wall. What the hell? Last time he needed a repair like that was when he threw a Skrull across his bathroom, and we had to repair the glass too.”

He looks up with alarm as Clint pumps his fist into the air and whoops loudly, upsetting the entire game and filling the air with the sound of falling wooden blocks.

“Do I even want to know?” Tony asks rhetorically.

“Nope!” Clint bounds from his chair with a cackle of glee. “You win. I gotta go find Tasha!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The bonus takes place directly before the bonus in First Time, if you’ve read that one.


	24. On the Desk (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I used a table. Shhh! It is a flat surface with things on it where someone does work, which is more than half the dictionary definition of “desk.” Why yes, I did look it up, thank you.
> 
> Does anyone have an idea for the next prompt, Trying New Position? >_> I’m going to have to look up the Kama Sutra, aren’t I?
> 
> This is set in a canon divergence where everyone lives in the Tower and everything is awesome.

Of all the things to damage Bucky’s arm, it’s ping pong. 

“Really, icy?” Tony frowns at Bucky. They’re both seated in one of Tony’s workshops. Dum-E holds a light still for them as Tony carefully pries away panels. They had to use a short-range EMP to disable it so Tony could work safely. Steve is on Bucky’s other side for both support and safety. With the limb knitted to Bucky’s nervous system, sudden pain could trigger the assassin.

Tony peeks around one panel and starts to remove another. Even though the arm is 100% tech, his _brain_ believes it belongs to him. He’s been taught to ignore pain, but getting your arm ripped to pieces is flat out disconcerting. His right hand grips Steve hard.

“Ping pong? I mean, how many injuries are sustained by a hollow piece of plastic probably weighing a gram and two press-board paddles? That’s just sad.” Tony is trying to help in his own way by distracting Bucky from the tinkering. “You couldn’t even pick something cooler? Like… I don’t know. Twister. Hide and seek. No, forget that one. We’d never find you or Clint or Natasha. Monopoly?”

“Monopoly,” Steve echoes. “How dangerous is Monopoly?”

“You want to keep all your friends and not get into screaming contests and fistfights?”

“…Yes.”

“Then never play Monopoly, Captain.”

Bucky is busy focusing on Steve’s hand in his, pressing his fingers into warm skin in random patterns. Honestly, the ping pong had nothing to do with it. Tony has been on him about at least running diagnostics on his arm to make sure it’s in top condition. But that reminded him a little too much about having to report in and sit in that chair and… No, he couldn’t do it. But he’s lucky he didn’t malfunction on the field, where it could have cost a life. He considers another one of Stark’s offers of building him a completely new prosthetic. 

Steve’s face swims into view as he gets the brunet’s attention. “You still doing okay, Buck?”

Bucky shoves his thoughts aside and grimaces. “You know that cringing feeling you get when someone does something bone-headed in a movie? Kinda hurts your teeth?”

Steve and Tony nod, the latter never looking away from his delicate work.

“Feels kind of like that, but just in my arm.” He can see Tony wince in sympathy in his periphery, but Steve just frowns.

“So it doesn’t quite hurt?”

“Oh, that too. But not all the time. Most of it is kind of… distant?” Bucky shrugs, but Steve presses a loving kiss to his temple anyway.

“Just a little longer,” Steve says bracingly. “Right, Tony?”

“Er… right. JARVIS, bring up the latest schematic and… Oh, there. Okay. Just reconnect _this_ and—”

Bucky tenses and hisses between his teeth, as much of a concession to pain as he gives. His right hand convulses in Steve’s grip hard enough to make the blond’s bones creak.

“Okay, okay, bad idea!” Tony yelps. “Er… this could take longer than originally anticipated.”

*

It does. Steve has to bring food and drink into the lab and ends up sitting alongside Bucky, distracting him with sporadic kisses and word games, and once by sketching. They play Scrabble and quit when they can’t decide if Russian words are breaking the rules.

Hours later, Tony sighs and carefully seals the panels. “Good as new. Or, you know, not _new_ new, but like it was before. Probably better. Seriously, Barnes, you should think about that upgrade.”

Bucky rotates his left arm, doing stretched designed to check the calibration. Stark knows what he’s doing, but Bucky always checks anyway. “Maybe.”

“Maybe, he says.” Tony tosses his toolbox on a table and throws his hands in the air dramatically. “I’m surrounded by luddites. Stay here as long as you need; I fiddled with the fine motor functions a little while I was in there, and you weren’t looking too good near the end. Take a break until you feel more like yourself. JARVIS will lock up behind you.”

“Thanks, Tony!” Steve calls after the engineer. Tony just wiggles his fingers over his shoulder in farewell and gets into an elevator. As soon as he’s out of sight, Steve turns back to Bucky. “How you feelin’? Okay? Any pain?”

“If I actually had an arm it would ache right about now,” Bucky admits. “And my jaw hurts from trying not to kick Stark in his chatty mouth.”

Steve can understand. If he was still capable of regular headaches, he suspects he’d go through an entire bottle every time there was a team briefing just from clenching his teeth so hard. Sometimes it’s hard not to hit Tony.

“He means well,” Steve says. He shoves some tools and parts aside one shiny metal table and pats it. Bucky hops up and continues moving his arm carefully as Steve cups his face with both hands, letting his warmth soak into Bucky’s skin for a few moments before carefully massaging the muscles of the brunet’s jaw.

He sticks to soothing, circular motions as Bucky slowly relaxes. When the muscles feel pliant and warm to the touch, Steve pulls away and kisses up Bucky’s jaw, ending at the offending muscle. Bucky closes his eyes and savors the feeling, missing the small whimper that escapes his throat.

Steve doesn’t miss it, though. Smiling inside, he repeats the motion and takes it one step further, licking close to the sensitive skin just past the hinge of Bucky’s jaw before gently biting his earlobe. Bucky flushes, arms moving to circle Steve’s neck loosely as the blond repeats the motion on Bucky’s other side.

When Steve starts to withdraw, Bucky tugs on the back of his neck and dips his head to snag Steve’s lips in a kiss, nipping his lower lip playfully. They pull away slightly, giving Bucky that opportunity to see the blush spreading over Steve’s skin and the glistening of his lips before the two of them crash together in a clash of teeth and tongue. Turns out Bucky’s arm works just fine, if Steve’s moans when Bucky tugs carefully at his hair are any indication. The brunet drags his hand down Steve’s arm, sneaking under the hem of his shirt to palm the hard muscles underneath. Steve shivers at the contrast of cold metal against warm skin but makes no indication of wanting to stop. One of Steve’s hands drops to grip Bucky’s hip, massaging and stroking the bone there.

It’s Bucky’s turn to moan, spreading his legs wantonly, hooking his ankles behind Steve’s knees to drag him closer. Steve’s eyes glaze over slightly and his breathing speeds up. He fumbles at the button of Bucky’s pants, trying and failing to get it undone without stopping their heated kiss. Bucky chuckles and pulls away slightly, lips still grazing Steve’s.

“Let’s see if Stark was right about fixing this thing.” Bucky doesn’t give Steve a chance to respond before ripping his pants open (oops, goodbye ugly khakis) and palming his cock, dragging his fingers over his balls and up, grinning into Steve’s gaping mouth as he discovers his lover has gone commando.

Steve is ready and already leaking precum, making it easier for Bucky to glide his metal hand up and down, twisting delicately on the upstroke. Steve shudders in his arms and whines, tugging at Bucky’s shirt. Bucky’s smile grows wider. “You really want me to stop to get my shirt off?”

Steve gives him the most adorable confused look. He doesn’t want things to stop, but he _needs_ Bucky’s shirt off. Bucky takes pity on him and pulls his own shirt off over his head, letting it drape over his left shoulder and giving Steve free access to his chest and back. Steve takes eager advantage, dipping his head to kiss and suck at any expanse of skin he can reach while he thrusts into Bucky’s hand.

Watching Steve lose it slowly is driving Bucky crazy. He stops long enough to drag Steve’s shirt off and finish chucking his own, garnering a needy noise from the blond. He’s hard and aching but manages to give Steve an amused look as he gestures to his own pants. “You want to do the honors?”

He’s subjected to Steve’s laser focus as the blond nods and finally manages to strip Bucky of his pants in quick, efficient movements. It’s not for nothing that Steve is a master tactician because without looking he grabs a bottle of machine oil sitting on the counter and squeezes some inelegantly on his fingers. Bucky’s still laughing when Steve shoves two fingers past his rim. His laughter chokes off into a shout of surprise and pleasure as desire and pain shoot up his spine. Steve growls and latches his mouth onto the crook of Bucky’s neck, sucking a purple mark there as he continues to work his fingers in and out of Bucky’s body. When he has trouble accesses his lover fully, Steve uses his free hand to pull Bucky’s hips closer to the edge of the table and his head to push the brunet’s chest back. Bucky loops his arms around Steve’s neck so the blond can bear some of his weight while he leans back, ignoring the bite of the table edge on his skin.

Steve is three fingers in when he starts sucking an identical mark on the other side of Bucky’s neck. He’s being a tease, fingers probing close but not touching Bucky’s prostate no matter how the brunet rocks into the motions. Bucky gets frustrated and opens his eyes to glare at the other man, thumping his fist on Steve’s shoulder.

“You’re being a tease, Stevie. Don’t you know it’s not polite to—” Bucky loses the rest of the sentence to a wordless cry as Steve thrusts into him all at once, grinding and circling his hips as soon as he’s fully sheathed. The motion hits Bucky in all the right spots and he has to bite his own fist to keep from coming too soon, body instinctively tightening in pleasure, attempting to keep Steve deep in him even as he blond pulls out just to plunge in again.

It’s sets the pace for them, the shallow, rocking thrusts punctuated by Bucky’s gasping breath and Steve’s muttered curses. The blond cradles the back of Bucky’s head and leans him back further, draping him completely across the cool metal surface. Bucky goes willingly, reaching above himself to grip the opposite edge of the table, giving him leverage to roll his hips, meeting Steve’s thrusts with his own. Steve hisses with satisfaction as they grind together, giving it a moment before grabbing Bucky by the hips and snapping forward, driving into him hard enough to knock something off the table. The clatter is lost in Bucky’s moan as he arcs his back, feeling Steve deep inside him.

Steve knows he won’t last for very long, so he sets a brutal pace, angling his lover’s hips with one hand while the other snakes up to pump at his cock. Bucky begins trembling, moaning nonsense into the air and taking Steve beautifully. Steve can feel himself so close, pleasure pooling deep in his gut.

“Bucky,” he whispers. The quiet amidst their loud lovemaking catches the brunet’s attention. Grey eyes snap open as Bucky looks up at Steve and that’s it; that’s all Steve needed to go crashing over the edge, shouting incoherently and gripping hard enough to bruise.

Feeling Steve fill him up is too much, the added heat pushing Bucky over the edge and he climaxes between them, chest heaving as he tries and fails to take in enough air. He’s still trying to recover when he feels Steve’s hand run gently through his hair in soothing petting motions. He smiles dopily and makes kissy faces until Steve laughs and leans in, complying with the silent request.

Bucky lies there bonelessly as Steve, ever the gentleman, uses his shirt to clean them both up. He even indulges the other man by slipping his pants up for him, letting Bucky finish wrangling them up his own things before kneeling to adjust his dark socks. Bucky pulls on his shirt and stifles a laugh.

“I’m not Cinderella, you sap.”

“Mmm, that’s good, because otherwise I might develop a foot fetish. Bet you’d look good in heels.”

Bucky levers himself off the table and snorts. “I’m a trained assassin and I’m still convinced I’d break my ankle. I don’t know how Natasha does it.”

Steve is hunting around one of the boxes under the table, but he pauses to glance up and chuckle. “If Pepper were trained she’d be even more deadly. I’m certain I saw her in six-inch heels once. Towered over Stark.” He emerges with a rag and a bottle, looking triumphant.

“Bet Stark didn’t mind being that much closer to her tits,” Bucky comments idly. He moves when Steve nudges him aside, curious. When Steve sprays the table and starts wiping it down, he laughs. “God, you’re something else, Stevie.”

Steve grins over his shoulder. “Momma raised me right.” He leans down to pick up the bits and bobs that had fallen to the floor, arranging them more carefully than Bucky thinks Stark ever would. “Looks like your arm works just fine.” His tone is much too casual.

“Yeah...?”

“Should we go run a few more tests to make sure?”

Bucky laughs so hard that he doubles over, waving a hand helplessly in the air. Steve just throws him over one broad shoulder and marches out the door, grinning.

=

**BONUS**

It takes Tony a few minutes to figure out what feels off about his workshop. At first he thought it was Dummy gaslighting him again, moving things around like a bad robot. But then he notices one surface that gleams much brighter than the others. Circuits and fistfuls of forgotten parts are lined up with military precision. He eyes the table, turning the possibilities over in his head.

He sees a vague indent on one gleaming edge.

And blanches.

“SACRILIGE! JARVIS! This is what I get for leaving my lab unattended! Why did—Oh, God, they—JARVIS!”

_:Yes, sir?:_

“How could you let them _do_ this?! I can’t work like this!”

_:I didn’t realize that stopping other… activities… was part of my duty, sir. Certainly you have entertained—:_

“Okay, enough. Just… Remind me not to leave the geriatrics alone in here anymore,” he grumbles, still eyeing the table. There just isn’t enough bleach in the world.

*

Steve and Bucky come back from a sparring session to find a large table in their apartment, decked out with a bow and a note. Bucky snags the paper and reads in Tony’s spikey scrawl:

_Since you like it so much._

He laughs when Steve goes scarlet, reading the note over his shoulder. Bucky tosses the paper back onto the table and hops up, swinging his legs idly.

“Well, since it’s here…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late. I need to stop thinking that plots are real things. >_>


	25. Trying New Position (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn’t go to the Kama Sutra. Instead I went on what was probably a sketch site that had lots of variations of the same three positions so they could complete a list of 45. But I found something, so there’s that. **I hope this goes without saying, but please don’t read this one ESPECIALLY at work since there is a NSFW image at the bottom.** Haha, you see what I did there. Bottom. (I am a child.)
> 
> Set in canon divergent AU. Everyone is in the Tower and probably scarred for life from Bucky and Steve going at it like rabbits.

They’ve been at it for more than three hours, if Bucky’s internal clock is any indication. What started out as something hot and passionate morphed into slow and loving. The long line of orgasms probably helped in that regard.

The bed is a complete mess, pillows knocked aside, comforter now completely gone and the sheets in total disarray. Even the mattress cover is threatening to come off, and the reinforced frame has started creaking occasionally in protest. Bucky’s arms frame Steve’s face, both of them red with exertion, and Steve looks up at him with complete adoration. Those guileless blue eyes shine with enough love to make Bucky’s breath hitch as he moves inside his lover, Steve’s legs hooked around his waist and fingers tangled in brown tresses. He has no fucking idea what he did in a previous life to deserve Steve, but Bucky sure as hell is going to make the most of it. His heart is pounding hard in complete disproportion to the amount of effort he’s expending, but if he died now he’d be happy as long as he’s in Steve’s arms.

Steve knows, logically, that he can (and has) stay on his feet for hours; in training or on the field, kicking, flipping, punching, throwing… But here, Bucky moving inside him and staring at him with single-minded focus, he can feel his legs tremble around the other man’s waist. His voice is already hoarse in a way it never is, even after hours of yelling on the battlefield; his hair is sweat-damp and soaking into the one remaining pillow, mingled with tears of pure joy. He licks lazily up into Bucky’s mouth, eyes fluttering shut at the lingering taste of himself mixed with Bucky’s sweat. When he looks up again, Bucky is smiling faintly, eyes glowing with warmth as they linger over Steve’s face. It makes the blond want to blush and hide, which on the outside is completely ridiculous. But there’s still part of him, seventy-odd years later, that can’t believe someone as amazing as James Barnes stands by his side. Best friends or lovers, Steve can’t imagine life without him anymore.

Bucky can feel his lover trembling with exertion. He’s feeling it too, but he’ll always put Steve first. Even under years of brainwashing and abuse, Steve had always been first. So he lets his head drop another inch to whisper in the blond’s ear.

“Turn over, Stevie. On your stomach, go on.” Like that, Bucky can help take some of his weight, and it’ll remove some of the stress of fighting gravity. But Steve shakes his head adamantly.

“ _No_. Wanna… wanna stay with you, Buck.”

And it’s not like Bucky would actually be going anywhere, but he takes Steve’s meaning. The other man doesn’t want to lose the intimacy of being face to face. They’re both beyond spent, so this will probably be the last round for the night, and Steve wants to be present in every way possible. Bucky’s mind fights the haze its been rolling in and manages to come up with a solution.

“Your side, then.”

Steve lets out a high-pitched whine and tightens his legs around Bucky’s waist, making the brunet both moan and chuckle. “I won’t leave you. Just move slow.”

Feeling Steve clench his muscles and shift around him makes Bucky’s head spin in ways he hadn’t anticipated. Somehow he manages to continue directing Steve until Bucky straddles one of his legs, the other hooked up around the brunet’s waist where Bucky can help by gripping him hard.

Steve’s eyes almost roll back in his head as every nerve ending lights up every time Bucky shifts within him. It isn’t until he feels one of Bucky’s hands holding him open and the other gently stroking his lower back that he realizes how fucking _deep_ Bucky is within him. He can’t bite back another breathy moan when the brunet starts to move again, pumping in and out slowly and even though Steve knows its impossible it _feels_ like he reaches further every time.

Like this, he can still twist his torso to watch Bucky’s expression as he fills him up; see the brunet struggle to keep his rolling pace, eyes a fraction too wide as he flicks from watching himself disappear into the blond to Steve’s expression and back again.

Bucky can feel his climax creeping up on him in a slow, burning build. Like a tsunami dragging waves from the shore, other parts of his body seem to numb until he exists only in Steve: sliding in and out of his tight heat, the play of muscles under his hand, the lifeline of his blue gaze. He fumbles for a moment, trying to find Steve’s hand, but the blond meets him halfway. It makes the metal of his arm groan and Steve’s bones creak to hold on so tight, but it’s exactly what they need.

Steve’s orgasm hits him first, locking him up, bowing his back, mouth silently forming his lover’s name. Bucky can see him struggle to keep his eyes open and the pleasure peaks, dragging him into its undertow and he goes willingly, drowning in Steve. He fights his body’s urge to close his eyes, desperate to stay with Steve as he’d asked. His vision blurs with sweat and tears but he never stops staring into those bottomless pools of love.

Neither of them know how long it takes to come down, or how they even find the energy to do anything other than wrap around each other. They share the last pillow, Bucky spooning behind Steve, holding him tight and pressing his lips to matted blond hair. Steve is happy to be the little spoon, laying his arms on top of the brunet’s and hunching his shoulders to fit properly into the embrace. Steve frees one hand to reach up and stroke Bucky’s cheek softly. Bucky turns his head to graze his lips across those fingers adoringly. Sighing in satisfaction, Bucky squeezes Steve’s middle again and settles in to sleep.

“Love you, Buck. Til the end of the line, right?”

Bucky thinks for a moment; thinks about saving a stupid punk who fought losing battles, of stubborn pride and fierce blue eyes too big for that pale face. He thinks of tanned skin and gentle smiles and looks of pure adoration hiding behind heavy responsibility and fear. He remembers the sharp pain of loss and the baffling feeling of true forgiveness, of love despite all sins. Bucky smiles, eyes still closed as he presses a final kiss into Steve’s skin.

“My line will always begin and end with you, Stevie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WHY DO I THINK THAT ANYTHING OTHER THAN SEX MATTERS?! At least I managed like 90% on this one. I’ll take it.
> 
> Position taken from a hetero site, but theoretically should work the same as it’s supposed to provide “the deep penetration of doggy style while face to face.” 
> 
>  
> 
> [Link](http://www.menshealth.com/sex-women/45-sex-positions-guys-should-know/slide/16)
> 
>  


	26. Shy (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in Brooklyn before Bucky enlists, so some time in the early 1940s.
> 
> Thank you all for your comments! <3 They mean more to me than ice cream, and that’s saying a lot. They truly keep me going. :)

Everyone thinks that Steve is the shy one. It’s not hard to believe, since he has trouble talking to women, but anyone who knows him as well as Bucky does knows he’s not really shy at all. Really, would a shy person confront street thugs double his size and then hobble home, bloody and proud, despite the disapproving looks of strangers?

And everyone thinks Steve blushes a lot. That one is partially true, although “blush” suggests a certain coyness that Steve lacks. Bucky would say that he just gets flushed or occasionally caught off-guard. And Steve _does_ turn pink a lot—mostly with anger. Anger at himself, at unfairness, at the world at large. So, yes, one could say Steve blushes for a given value of the word “blush.”

But here, in their cramped apartment on the odd night when they’re both home and neither is sick or dead tired; when they’re sharing a bed to do more than sleep… It’s Bucky who finds himself bashful and turning pink with near-embarrassment. He’s known Steve for almost half his life and they’ve been lovers for almost half of that, and he _still_ can’t help himself when they’re making love.

It really is making love. Steve would never do anything so base as to “fuck” Bucky. That would imply things are meaningless when nothing could be further from the truth. It’s probably why Bucky can’t stop himself from going pink every time Steve looks at him with heat in his eyes; when the tiny blond utters his name in a quiet growl and plants wet, open-mouthed kisses across his skin. When Steve, panting and _flush_ with exertion, takes Bucky’s cock in his mouth and moans like it’s the best goddamn thing in the world, like Bucky is doing him some great favor by letting him do it.

But it’s when Steve rides him that makes him blush the most. Not when he’s fingering Steve open (or when Steve does it himself, those occasions where Bucky trembles too much or is too out of his mind to do it for him) or when they’re stripping each other’s clothes off, or even when they have their mouths on each other. No, it’s when Steve lowers himself down carefully, Bucky’s hands on his tiny waist to make sure he doesn’t hurry and hurt himself. It’s when, eyes wide, he watches himself disappear into his lover and Steve arcs his back and whines with pleasure. When he plants a hand on Bucky’s thigh and pushes himself up just to slam back down, gyrating his hips just so… _That’s_ when Bucky blushes.

Steve takes what he wants in bed, and Bucky is always happy to give it to him. But there’s something about watching Steve from below that makes Bucky want to hide his face like a fucking virgin. Suddenly he doesn’t know what to do or say; can only watch in awe as Steve just takes and takes and _takes_.

It might be the words that fall from Steve’s mouth. They’re not crude, not by a long shot, but something about them is still painfully erotic and makes Bucky feel more naked than if he walked down a street without a stitch on. _God, you’re so perfect_ , and _I love the way you sound_ , and _Touch me, Buck_ , and _Buck, I love you_ , and _Mine_.

Maybe it’s what he does, moving with an energy he rarely has, perfectly happy to let Bucky flutter his hands helplessly and moan little more than Steve’s name. The smaller man has a way of clenching his body that makes Bucky see stars and wonder if he’s going to come embarrassingly fast, like a teenager. But Steve has _that_ covered, too. Almost like he can sense it, the blond always slows, almost tortuously so, until the threat of pleasure swamping Bucky has passed without ever reaching its peak. He even guides Bucky’s hands to his own cock, waiting patiently until the brunet remembers, through his haze of emotions and euphoria, what exactly to do. And it could be that Steve isn’t the only one who has a sixth sense for his lover, because by the stifled noises the blond makes and how long they can draw out a single session, Bucky is probably staving off Steve’s orgasms too.

But it could also be just the way Steve _looks_ at him, all alabaster skin and blazing blue eyes, blond hair dark with sweat but backed wonderfully by the candlelight they use to cut back on electricity. Despite what the rest of the world sees as Steve’s physical imperfections, Bucky is constantly in awe of his lover. He’s like an angel, a fucking angel visiting from on high, dragging Bucky’s pitiful soul from the muck of this existence and offering him something much more.

That’s it, isn’t it? That feeling of utter humility in the face of Steve’s love and goodness; of knowing that his own love is like a tiny flame compared to the sun that is Steve Rogers. That tinge of guilt when he knows that part of the reason he hides their relationship isn’t because of fear of the law, but from fear that someone else might see how wonderful Steve is, and Steve will realize how little Bucky has to offer and simply leave. Fear that one day, Steve will no longer gaze at him with love and adoration. And it’s selfish, he knows, to want to keep that all for himself, but it doesn’t stop him in the least.

He did try to hide his face, once. Just the one time, when the feeling to do so overcame him and he couldn’t look at Steve’s face anymore, turning away like a penitent. Steve had simply stopped and prized Bucky’s arm away from where it was thrown over his face to conceal his blushes and his tears. He’d held Bucky’s hand in his and leaned in and said in a perfectly serious voice, “Bucky, look at me,” and who was Bucky to stand against that? So he had opened his eyes and looked, and Steve had smiled beatifically and said, “Perfect.” Bucky could read between the lines. He knew at that moment that Steve meant that word in every sense there could be to convey: That Bucky was perfect in mind, body, and spirit. That his love and insecurities and everything that made up Bucky Barnes was absolutely perfect.

Steve had sealed his words with a kiss and Bucky had reciprocated eagerly, trying to convey with his body what he couldn’t say in words. That Steve was perfect too. That Bucky loved him with everything he was. And that was the last time Bucky ever tried to hide from Steve, no matter how he felt.

So when they’re like this, with Steve on top of him, drawing pleasure for them both, wonderful and frail and strong all at once, _that’s_ when Bucky’s true colors show. The pink of his cheeks betray him, but he never feels truly small. Not when Steve has him, holding his heart so carefully even as he lets out soft gasps and breathy moans. Even as Bucky whispers his name mindlessly because it’s the only thing he can think of. Even as they both unravel, Steve’s mouth open in a silent scream and Bucky forgetting to be careful, ramming in as deep as he can before biting his lip and stilling.

Even when, after, _Steve_ is the one to hold _Bucky_ close and whisper sweet nothings. Even then, despite feeling like he ought to hide, Bucky can’t quite feel vulnerable because he _knows_ he’s safe.


	27. With Toys + Size Kink (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A size kink was suggested for the “Your Own Kink” prompt, but I’d already decided on something else. So… I added it to this one! And then I added holiday flavor because I feel so seasonal! …It made sense at the time.
> 
> **This one got really kinky really fast. If you’re not OK with size kink and mild d/s elements then turn back now, please!**
> 
> Set in my standard canon divergence. Everyone is in the Tower and pretends not to know what the nonagenarians are up to. (Probably.)

Steve feels mostly relieved when Bucky gives him his “Christmas present” in the safety of their own bedroom. _Mostly_ relieved. The rest is pure embarrassment, and Bucky isn’t helping any by standing there, hands on hips and smirking expectantly. Steve stares at the box for another long moment before finding words.

“Th-thanks, Buck. I… ah… appreciate it?” His voice cracks and he winces. He sounds unconvincing even to his own ears, but at least he didn’t say something like ‘it’s the thought that counts.’ …Right?

Because sitting in his lap, nestled in ribbon and candy-striped wrapping paper, is what must be the biggest dildo he has _ever_ seen. Sure, he knows on some level that these exist (and probably even bigger, too) but he’s never had to _confront_ one. He thinks wildly that this would make an exceptional weapon against him because if he saw it going into a fight he’d probably stop everything just to cover his eyes. It definitely wouldn’t stop Tony or Clint (or, apparently, Bucky), but Steve would have to fight blind and… _No_ , he doesn’t even want to think about that anymore. What’s that phrase Clint always says? ‘Brain bleach’? He needs that.

He comes back to the present when Bucky starts chuckling. “Steve, you have got to be the worst liar I know. You might as well have told me ‘it’s the thought that counts,’” and, dammit, he saw right through that one.

“I, um…” He shifts uncomfortably and tries to put down the (actually quite heavy) box when it starts _vibrating_. He jumps and nearly drops it before recovering and Bucky goes red and almost starts crying with laughter. Steve levels a Captain America Disapproves glare at him and gets the packaging open to turn the damn thing off. He sees now that the side of the box proudly proclaims that it ‘Vibrates for his or her pleasure!’ It’s also ‘easy to clean’ and ‘takes AA batteries,’ but that’s neither here nor there.

“You put batteries in it?”

Bucky snorts as he tries to stuff his laughter long enough to reply. “Yeah. I—yeah.” Steve waits with exaggerated patience as Bucky fights to get his giggles under control. “Just wanted everything to be ready.”

Steve eyes the monster in his hands. It has to be at least 7.5 inches around and ten long and he doesn’t know how _anyone_ could handle it. It’s not as though he’s in love with vanilla sex, but this is a little extreme in terms of what he thinks he can do. 

“Not sure this’ll fit, Buck.” Even as he says it he feels a mix of trepidation and exhilaration not unlike he used to when approaching a particularly large roller coaster at Coney Island. He honestly doesn’t think he can do it, but part of him wants to try. Which is why he’s caught completely off-guard when Bucky, still grinning but no longer laughing, gets into his personal space and says,

“That’s why it’s for _me_.”

Steve stares. “But I… You said…”

“For you to use on me,” Bucky clarifies. And, yes, he’s definitely serious. His pupils are already expanding in anticipation and Steve is suddenly hyper-aware of the heat between them and the fact that Bucky had insisted they shower before going to bed tonight. Steve is supposed to be The Man with a Plan, but Bucky definitely has him beat here. Steve swallows hard, more anticipation pouring through his veins.

“And I’m guessing you wanted to use it…?”

“…Tonight. Yes.” For all his corded muscles, Bucky can move like a jungle cat when he wants to, slinking across the bed and onto Steve’s body, swatting the wrapping paper aside and pressing Steve into the bed. Steve shudders, already half-hard, when Bucky nips at the exposed skin of his neck. “I’m thinkin’ we’re both a little overdressed for this occasion.”

Bucky takes his time divesting both of their clothing, starting with Steve’s shirt. He kisses a trail up the blond’s body as he pushes the fabric up, Steve arcing his back every so often to let the fabric slide. Bucky pauses once to attack Steve’s nipples with lips and tongue and teeth, and maybe he should have expected it but with his shirt in his way he literally didn’t see it coming. His eyes, half-closed with lazy pleasure, fly open as he cries out in surprised, an approving moan following hot on its heels. Just as he’s becoming oversensitive, Bucky resumes his trek upwards, finally tugging the shirt off Steve’s head and rewarding him with a deep kiss.

His pants go next. Bucky doesn’t stop kissing him, trailing back down the way his came. This time he slides kisses down his sides, hands massaging Steve’s hips and thighs and calves as he goes. When his pants (and underwear) are down by his ankles, Bucky shoves Steve’s legs apart and kneels in the space between his knees. He reaches behind himself to tug the garments off with a flourish, forcing Steve to open up, clamping his knees around Bucky’s waist. _This_ time he knows to brace himself because he can see the wicked look in Bucky’s eye just before he mouths up and down Steve’s cock; just enough pressure to keep from tickling, but not nearly enough to satisfy. Steve moves his hips, shamelessly chasing the sensation, but Bucky just withdraws with a chuckle.

He straddles Steve and sits back carefully until Steve can feel Bucky’s ass against his aching cock. He releases an embarrassing sound at the first contact and Bucky smirks, stopping there. He bats Steve’s hands away when the blond tries to touch him, to help him with his shirt. Instead, Bucky leans in and tells him to “Stay still,” so he does. Bucky moves as slowly as he did with Steve, eyes half-lidded with pleasure and acting for all the world like the other man isn’t even there. Every inch of himself he exposes he touches sensuously, fingers playing across his own skin and stroking every place Steve _knows_ is sensitive. All the while Bucky rolls his hips, brushing against Steve’s cock and then grinding down on the hard planes of the blond’s stomach. Steve tries to move again and this time Bucky retaliates by grabbing both his wrists to pin them above his head with another command to “Stay.” And he starts all over, the hem of his shirt having fallen when correcting Steve.

He pauses at his nipples to give them the same treatment he gave Steve’s using his fingers to pinch and rub and twist until they peak with pleasure. Thoughtless little noises fall from his mouth. Steve can feel his own precum trickle in warm trails to cool on his skin and his mouth waters. Bucky doesn’t continue until he’s good and ready, finally chucking his own shirt off into the recesses of the room. He goes in for another kiss that Steve eagerly leans into, only to swerve away at the last minute, redirecting his mouth to nip at Steve’s ear and then down his neck. He can feel Bucky’s hand move to undo his own pants before the brunet is moving again, maneuvering until he’s between Steve’s legs, Steve’s cock trapped between them and Bucky’s weight providing sweet friction. Bucky doesn’t stop his downward assault, one hand shoving his pants and shorts off and undulating to aid things along. Steve is forced to grip his own wrists to keep from moving his hands. He doesn’t want to risk grabbing the pillow; he’s sure he’d rip it at the rate Bucky’s going.

When his pants are gone too, Bucky slinks back up to straddle Steve again, once more tempting him with the broken promise of a kiss. Steve groans in disappointment and Bucky smirks, leaning over until he can grab a fresh bottle of lube. He was smart enough to crack the seal beforehand so he gets straight to it, fingering himself open. The expression on Bucky’s face dares Steve to just _try_ moving again so Steve clutches his own wrists harder, skin turning white in his own grip. Bucky’s eyes flick up and he smiles, slow and easy, before rewarding Steve’s efforts with a kiss. Steve sighs into the kiss, gratefully tangling his tongue with Bucky’s as the other man starts pulsing his tongue in time with his rocking hips, still spreading himself wide.

Bucky pulls away with a gasp, already three fingers in and as deep as he can go. His hand brushes against Steve’s erection occasionally, making the blond shiver and moan. Finally, _finally_ , he adds more lube and goes to slick Steve up as well. He pretends to be absorbed in this task, warming the lube in his flesh hand and spreading it generously over Steve’s cock.

“Do you know why I wouldn’t let you touch me?” he asks idly. Steve can only shake his head, breathless as he watches Bucky’s ministrations. The brunet continues as though he knew better than to wait for a reply. “It’s so you wouldn’t hold back later, Stevie. I’m going to make you save all those touches, all that want, until _after_ you come. Do you know why?”

Steve manages to find his voice. “Why?”

Bucky pins him with a heated look. “Because I’m going to let you come inside me, so I’m nice and relaxed and _wet_. So you won’t hold back when I ask you to stretch me even wider. So you’ll _want_ to fuck me with that.” He inclines his head towards the toy, still sitting on one side of the bed. And, fuck, Steve honestly didn’t think it would be a turn-on, but now his desperate mind is imagining it, imagining filling his lover’s waiting, leaking hole with the thick toy and rocking it, fucking it in and out of his body until Bucky cries for release. He shudders and Bucky’s smile grows. “That’s right, Stevie. I can see you thinking about it in that head of yours. Whatever it is your thinking? I want it, and more.”

Bucky apparently decides he’s ready because before Steve can wrap his mind around what Bucky just said, the brunet has turned around, back to Steve, and sunk down until the head of his lover’s cock is buried inside him. Steve bucks his hips and Bucky rocks back, allowing the intrusion with a satisfied hum. He keeps lowering himself slowly but steadily, giving Steve full view of himself stretching his lover’s body wide open. Steve finds himself riveted, unable to look away. Almost as soon as he bottoms out, Bucky works his way up again just so he can slam down faster. Steve’s breath hitches and he can feel himself cutting off his own circulation to his hands but he can’t find it in himself to care. Bucky’s rim glistens with lube, swallowing Steve’s cock obscenely with increasing speed. Bucky shoves his hair back with his left hand, moaning filthily as he arcs and clamps down, giving up and riding Steve with wild abandon.

Steve can feel himself getting close and tries to choke out a warning, hands releasing to fumble at Bucky’s calves. But the brunet grabs his wrist by the tender flesh just under his hand and digs his fingers in, making pain spike up Steve’s arm.

“Not yet,” he growls. “No touching yet.” And for some reason, between the pain and the rumbling of Bucky’s voice, Steve finds himself almost _howling_ with his release, his voice rising in pitch as Bucky continues to ride him mercilessly so Steve comes and comes and _comes_. 

When he can hear himself begging Bucky to slow down, to stop, anything, Bucky finally does. He spends a few seconds hunched over and shaking, breath coming in ragged gasps as Steve fights his way through the haze of pleasure. Bucky flips around so he’s lying by Steve’s side and drawing him into a kiss, heated and needy. It’s too soon even for a supersoldier, but Steve’s body tries valiantly to respond anyway. His hands fly over Bucky’s body greedily, finally free of his orders and starving to feel skin on skin, hungry from being deprived that one sense for too long. Bucky knows that one of Steve’s favorite things is to make his partner feel good, and the blond is frantically making up for lost time. 

Pressing his advantage, Bucky nudges Steve’s hand south, finally rolling over and rising up to his knees, the flats of his arms propping up his torso. When Steve doesn’t move, Bucky just growls, “Fine, I’ll do it,” and stuffs four fingers into his waiting hole, cum dripping out to coat his hand. He’s fumbling, though, the angle awkward and wrong, and as predicted Steve doesn’t let him struggle on his own. Oh, no. Steve, ever the gentleman, takes over almost automatically, his other hand moving towards Bucky’s cock. Bucky puts an end to that, though, snarling and grabbing Steve’s wrist again.

“Don’t,” he grits out. “I’m not coming until you fuck me with _that_. It’s what I _want_.” When Steve starts to protest, Bucky cuts him off. “Or else I won’t let myself come _at all_.”

It’s the most perverse kind of threat, one that works on Steve’s psyche and pride. One that gives Bucky the most leverage. Steve’s been satisfied but his lover hasn’t, and they both know he won’t let that stand. Bucky is backing him into a corner, eroding his wariness in favor of the promise of fulfillment. They can practically hear Steve’s arguments crumble.

“You’ll get hurt if you’re not prepped enough, Bucky,” Steve says weakly.

“Guess you better make sure I am, then,” Bucky shoots back.

Steve feels something inside him crack. His resolve, maybe, or his pride. If ever Steve Rogers could be accused of a sin, pride is definitely it. But even that can’t stand in the way of Bucky’s ferocity. Bucky catches the shift in Steve’s expression and braces himself, exhaling sharply and trying to will himself into relaxing because if he’s right—

“ _Ah!_ ” Steve’s hand dives back into him, four fingers flexing and pulsing, brushing against his prostate occasionally as Steve works him open. When he manages to look at Steve again, he moans whorishly at the sight of pupils blown black with lust, expression dark and fierce. Bucky feels the slightest whisper of trepidation: _This_ is what he’s been looking for all night, but now that he has it he doesn’t know he can fully stand this side of his lover. He’s only managed to egg Steve this far once before, and at the time it had involved a lot of pretty begging just to get Steve to grab Bucky’s head to choke him on his cock. Bucky had loved every second and had reassured Steve in every way that he’d wanted it. Steve hadn’t felt bad, exactly, but he _had_ been confused. Luckily, it was a rather rare occurrence for Bucky to want to feel this way, but the brunet couldn’t help himself after seeing the thing in a video. It was basically a sex challenge, and Bucky never turned down challenges. Or sex.

He wasn’t entirely sure it would work, either. Not until he saw the subtle shiver across Steve’s skin and the way the smallest blush spread down his cheeks and over his neck when he saw the toy. There was part of him already considering it, and Bucky only had to bring out that side. Maybe after tonight they could talk this through properly, but Bucky is a little too lost for coherent conversation. And if he gets his way, he’ll be in that state until well into tomorrow morning.

He feels all the breath leave his lungs when something wet and warm touches his aching rim, Steve still rotating his wrist so his knuckles graze Bucky’s inner walls. He pulses his fingers apart again, and _again_ there’s that warm sensation, this time with a puff of warm air and—Oh God. Realization sets in that Steve is licking and kissing around the tense muscle of his ring, massaging, coaxing it into being pliant. It feels good, so damn good, and Steve isn’t even done yet. It has to taste weird at the least, his own come and lube everywhere, but Steve dives in with gusto, pulling out his fingers to add more lube before he’s forcing his thumb in there as well, tight to the others to keep from pushing Bucky too far. But the brunet doesn’t even notice as Steve spreads his asscheeks apart with his free hand so he can lave at the sensitive skin close by, sucking gently in contrast to the steady burn stretching Bucky further and further. Steve goes back to massaging Bucky’s rim with his tongue, using the firm muscle to warm Bucky’s rim and help ease the stretch for now. And then Bucky cries out again because, _fuck_ , Steve starts to slip his tongue in at random intervals, breathing hot and close and Bucky can _feel_ it, the added thickness but warm and set and probing. He’s a fan of being eaten out but Steve seems to have a talent for elevating anything to a new level.

Steve spreads his fingers again, using the thumb of his free hand to keep Bucky’s rim warm and surreptitiously check for signs of injuries. Satisfied on that count, at least, he eyes his progress and then the size of the toy next to him. It’s not too far of a difference, he hopes. Buck is loose and slick with lube and come, making small noises while Steve strokes at his lower back absently, almost in comfort. He removes his hands and wipes them efficiently on the bedsheets. Bucky uses the time to get his breath in check but loses it all over again when Steve brings the toy into view, already gleaming with a generous amount of lube.

“Last chance to back out,” he says, feigning nonchalance. He waves it back and forth and Bucky follows with his eyes, mesmerized.

“Not backin’ down, punk.”

Steve shrugs as though he couldn’t care less, but his fingers are tender when they slick even more lube around Bucky’s hole. While the brunet might never have done _this_ before, he knows the usual drill and forces himself to relax as much as he can. Goosebumps cover his arms as Steve teases him with the head of the fake cock, experimentally pushing the tip in until it’s _just_ a little uncomfortable before rocking it and pulling away. Bucky bites down on the meat of his hand to keep from screaming. The anticipation, the teasing… it’s going to kill him before Steve gets anywhere close to penetrating him. He tries to remember if dying of blue balls is a real thing or if it’s one of those things you say just to get laid. He’s pretty sure it’s the latter, but right it _feels_ like he might die.

And then, finally, with only a minute pause for warning, Steve shoves part of the toy inside. It isn’t a substantial amount, only an inch or so, but it’s so _huge_ that Bucky cries out into his hands. He knows what’s coming next and he’s not disappointed. He can hear the worry in Steve’s voice as he asks “Are you OK? Should I stop?”

“No, it’s perfect, you’re perfect, keep going, I trust you, God, it feels so— _augh_!” He whines as Steve rocks the toy back in him, sweat popping out to bead his back and chest, running down his face and nose and collect in his dark hair. Steve is careful but steady, taking his time to get Bucky adjusted to the widest part of the toy until, countless minutes later, he can feel the thick ridge of the head slip in. Bucky lets out a thin whine while Steve patiently feeds the toy into Bucky’s willing ass. Bucky can’t turn anymore; can even _think_ past the sensation of being absolutely full. So full that he feels like he’s actually being taken apart from inside. So full that there _isn’t_ any part of him left untouched, the toy so big that it presses hard against his walls. Each new inch drags the hard rubber against his prostate whether he wills it or no. He’s lost all control of the sensations flooding his body, lost control of his own words as he groans brokenly, drawing in great, sobbing breaths as tears pour from his eyes. He has to remind himself to breathe, but he thinks he might be doing it too fast because he’s getting a little lightheaded. But that could be the euphoria talking, bleeding out from the sharp edge of pain.

Behind him, Steve watches Bucky’s ass steadily swallow up the toy. It’s _huge_ and some of the noises Bucky made sound pained, but a short while later Steve’s practiced ear can hear a liberal amount of pleasure as well. Enough to tell him that things were okay. But he has to make sure his lover is all right.

“Buck, you need me to stop?”

His response is immediate. “No, no, _fuck_ no. It just—it hurts but it’s not too bad and… _mmf_ … I want to keep going. I’ll say something if it’s too much, I swear, I—”

Steve is already back in charge, rotating the toy carefully so Bucky can get used to the intrusion. He strokes his free hand down Bucky’s back and across his ribs. From years of knowing each other so well, Steve can tell the other man is close. Smirking to himself, he moves his hand and clamps it firmly over the base of Bucky’s cock, earning him a sobbing moan.

“You said you wanted to come when this was inside you, but you didn’t specify _when_ ,” he murmurs darkly. He can feel Bucky’s cock pulse again simply at the timbre of his voice and chuckles. “Nah-ah. You wanted me to touch? I’m touching.” He tightens his grip a little more and draws up one knee to brace Bucky’s thigh, grabbing the base of the toy and _pulling_ until it’s exposed about three inches… And pushes it back in with a small twist of his wrist. Bucky screams, dropping his head to the mattress to muffle the sound. He’s well and truly crying now, pathetic noises and half-moans escaping his mouth as Steve makes good on his promise, running his hands all over his lover, blowing air across his skin to cool the drying sweat, all the while thrusting with the damn toy over and over. He’s forced to add more lube at least once, the cool gel a short reprieve from the heat engulfing Bucky’s body. Watching Bucky’s stretched hole, his lover too far gone for anything more than animalistic noises, makes Steve desperately hard. He’s surprised at his own reaction but ignores it for now, much more wrapped up in his lover’s reactions.

Sweat is covering Bucky’s skin and the sounds he makes are broken little things, desperate and almost whorish. He can’t seem to decide if he wants to pull away or push back, but when the noises turn from pain to mostly pleasure, Steve makes that decision for him. Gripping the brunet firmly, Steve carefully flips him over to his back, spreading Bucky’s legs to grip the base of the toy and give it a few more long, deep pumps. Bucky whimpers and flails for something to grab, finally ripping the sheets in his white-knuckled grip. And that’s when Steve remembers the little buttons on the bottom.

Bucky is too far gone to notice the wicked smirk that appears on Steve’s face as the blond fumbles at the controls. He blames the copious amount of lube when he fingers slip, making him forego the first setting and accidentally spiking up to the next highest. Bucky’s eyes fly open, unseeing, and he _screams_. His body can’t take anymore and he comes without being touched, thick white ropes spurting high enough to reach his chin, going on for so long that he stops screaming and Steve starts to worry that the brunet isn’t actually even _breathing_ anymore. But finally Bucky takes a huge, shuddering gulp of air and sighs it back out, his jaw slack as he trembles all over. Steve immediately stops the vibrations and eases the toy out to the sounds of Bucky’s wrecked whimpering. His erection has flagged, all his concentration on caring for the other man, inspecting his gaping hole with gentle fingers. It’s a little puffy, but nothing is torn and there’s no blood, so Steve relaxes a little. He wipes one hand on the ruined sheets and leans over his lover, stroking back his dark hair and murmuring praise.

Eventually, Bucky comes down from his high and meets Steve’s eyes. Steve smiles faintly and stokes his thumb over Bucky’s cheek. “Hey there.”

“Hey,” is the rasping reply.

“You still okay?”

Bucky gives a full-body shudder and he whines a little, deep in his throat. “Yeah… yeah, that was…” He has to stop to pant for breath. “Something else. Better than I expected.”

Steve plants a kiss just to the side of Bucky’s mouth. “Better than me?”

“You punk.” Bucky tries to give him a half-hearted shove but fails to get his arm up even halfway. He gives up on the motion and settles for a tired glare. “You know I’m going to say no.”

“Just making sure.” Steve give him a soft, chaste kiss before sliding him up to rest against the headboard. He grabs one of the bottles of water they keep around. It’s lukewarm, but that’s probably better in this case. He tries to help Bucky bring it to his lips but the brunet apparently still hasn’t regained full control of his body yet and water runs over his slack lips. Steve chuckles and takes the water into his own mouth before sealing his lips over Bucky’s and slowly feeding it him, feeling Bucky’s throat work to swallow the liquid. Pausing in between, Steve gives Bucky another few mouthfuls of water before pulling back to see Bucky’s dopey grin.

“You’re a sap.” Bucky’s voice is still hoarse but now quite as much as before.

“You love it.” Steve gets in the last word by virtue of feeding Bucky more water, forcing the brunet to shut up so he can drink. “I’m going to run a bath. And no, you don’t get a say.”

When the bath is ready the brunet is still unsteady on his feet, although he’s feeling better enough to swat at Steve playfully. Steve ends up carrying him into the large tub and for once he’s grateful that Tony’s bathroom designs were apparently made for four people at a time. It makes it easy for Steve to maneuver them both until they’re comfortable. He even brings in a few more bottles of water and places them on one of the built-in shelves, chugging one down himself before placing another just within Bucky’s reach.

“I’m going to be sore tomorrow. ‘S been a long time since that happened,” Bucky remarks. He’s recovered enough to go through another two bottles, much to Steve’s relief.

“Your own fault.”

“I never said it was a bad thing. I almost miss it, honestly. More… human, I guess. Less ‘super.’”

“Hmmm. I guess I’ll have to judge that myself,” Steve says nonchalantly. He sees the moment when Bucky’s lagging brain catches up, the other man staring at him in open disbelief. “What? It seems a shame to get a present and only use it once.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **First and foremost, I always want you guys to be safe.** Bucky and Steve are supersoldiers and can tolerate just about anything, as well as _recover_ from just about anything. Unless you’re a supersoldier too, please be careful if you want to try this. Work up to it and don’t hurt yourself because, seriously, torn and/or prolapsed _anything_ is not fun OR sexy.
> 
> ===
> 
> I’m really not sure what came over me. I mentioned in the comments that this is my first explicit writing, so I’ve never done this before. O_o So, um… Sorry? I have no real idea how this turned out, so feel free to tell me!


	28. Awkward Sex (M)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt is actually for “Boring Sex” but I didn’t want to write that because… well, it’s boring by definition. And who wants to read that? It might have meant vanilla sex, but oh well. Instead, you get this really weird exchange of awkward sex written in a completely different way. Rated M because it’s not as hardcore as my others, but there are definite references. Short.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been following me so far! Thank you for your kudos and comments and generally being awesome. <3 I’m thinking about writing a Christmas special (I celebrate it. My apologies if you don’t, so please consider it a winter gift?), but I’m not sure if I want to write it before or after the 25th. The themes and scenes would be different but they’d probably end up about the same length. Any opinions?
> 
> Set in AU divergence where all my pretties are in the Tower and happy. Except for the part I’m writing, where things are awkward. <3

“Steve, get the lube already.”

“…It’s empty.”

“Then get a _new_ bottle. You’re killing me here.”

The sound of rustling and heavy panting. “Got it.”

“You have to break the seal first. Christ, just give it over.”

“Buck! It’s all on the sheets now.”

“How was I supposed to know half the damn bottle would rupture like that?!”

“Well, they say you can never have enough lube. Here.” More fumbling and the crinkle of foil. “…My fingers are too slippery.” 

“Use your teeth.”

A ripping sound, then a second of silence. “I think I tore it.”

Another rip. “Are you serious? Here, help me out.”

“Finally.”

“C’mere.” The mood improves as slick bodies writhe together, moving into a new position. “Been practicing this one.”

“Practicing? Buck, what— _ahh!_ ”

Harsh breathing, and suddenly the sound of latex just barely snapping. “Shit, I tore it.”

“That’s… That’s okay, just get a new one and use your hands, _please_ , Buck.”

“Okay, Stevie, all right. I’ll take care of you.” Another rustle, and finally the slick slide and satisfied sighs of two bodies coming together. And then fumbling, and a chuckle.

“Fuck!”

“I guess there _is_ such thing as too much lube. Huh.”

“Shut it, Stevie.” The soft whisper of cloth and _finally_ moans of pleasure.

“God, oh _God_ , Buck…”

“Ah, Steve, _mmm_.”

The faint snick of a door opening, and a completely different voice. “Hey, guys, Sam wants to know if you’re still going to movie—AARGH!”

“JESUS, CLINT, DON’T YOU KNOCK?!”

“FUCK, Barnes, fuck you, I’M the one who’s going to be scarred for life!”

“GET THE FUCK OUT, BARTON!”

“I AM!”

The sound of a door slamming, then a pillow being pressed over a face. “I can’t believe he _saw_ us.”

“I can’t believe he doesn’t know how to knock.”

“ _Bucky_.”

“ _Stevie_.”

A long sigh. “Let’s just call it quits and go to movie night.”

“With you there.”

A freshly-showered Steve and Bucky slink into the common room and find seats, Bucky sulkily holding a bowl of popcorn and refusing to let anyone near it. Natasha and Sam keep giving him sideways looks for pouting, and every time anyone so much as glances at Steve, the blond blushes uncontrollably. Clint is mysteriously ‘sick’ that evening and doesn’t show. He avoids the two supersoldiers for a week straight, after which Bucky ambushes him in the kitchen and throws a cat bell at his head.

Clint cracks a smile. Everything is okay.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Weird, I know. I just decided to go for it. Besides, look! Two updates in one day!
> 
>  **For anyone who couldn’t follow my mysterious train of thought, here is the rundown (skip if you somehow followed the narrative)** : Steve and Bucky were getting hot and heavy when Steve gets out a new bottle of lube. Bucky tries to undo the seal but accidentally squeezes the bottle at the same time, resulting in most of the lube spilling all over the two of them. Steve has problems opening the condom (he used his teeth—always be careful when you use your teeth) so he gives them to Bucky, who tears one. Then they help each other out and Bucky tries to surprise Steve by putting the condom on him with his mouth. It rips another one and they have to start over, but there’s so much lube that Bucky keeps slipping out. Finally, Clint walks in on them (bad form not to knock, Clint) and the mood is dead in the water, so they give up.
> 
> Awkward enough? :3


	29. Rough/Bite/Scratch (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure if it’s more sad that I have more than 60k words on this or that I didn’t manage to finish in time for NaNoWriMo. >_>
> 
> For those of you just now reading this, I’ll reiterate: Think about doing some holiday fics. Should I do them so they end ON Christmas or start right AFER?
> 
> Set in modern-day divergence. Everyone is in the Tower… you know the drill. ;)

It’s almost like a tradition, but neither of them can pinpoint exactly when it started.

Originally, it began with them carefully checking each other for injuries. At that point, SHIELD had already given the entire team a medical check, but they liked to see for themselves that the other was whole and hale. Back then, anything they deemed worthy was covered with a bandage and kissed better. Sweet, careful, and loving. They’d do it again every day until the injuries healed, which never took long. But kisses always make things feel better, right? If anyone else on the team knew, they’d probably gag from the saccharine overload.

Somewhere along the line, it turned into I’m-so-glad-you’re-alive sex. After they’d looked each other over and finished the bandaging, one or the other of them would start kissing more than just the bandages and things would sort of… escalate from there.

And even further down the line, it turned into this.

*

Steve is the first back to the room, already drinking a bottle of water and working his way steadily through an apple. It was the first thing at hand when he’d gone past the kitchen. His free hand is already working off his pants to save his lover the trouble later. He eats the entire apple: a habit both he and Bucky share and that their teammates tend to find mildly horrifying. He’s just finished and is in the process of taking off his shirt when Bucky walks in, already bare and with his clothes slung over one shoulder. He always was more comfortable with nudity than Steve.

His eyes immediately dart toward the blond, but it hardly matters since Steve is doing the same, cataloging the damage from today’s battle. Luckily no one wielded anything that burned, since those took longer and were more painful to heal. He and Bucky always took the brunt of the damage in those situations since their teammates, with the exception of Tony, didn’t have the advantage of regenerating perfectly healthy skin after being burned. Well, Tony couldn’t perfectly heal burns either, but the Iron Man armor prevented anything short of boiling inside.

So, no burns. Steve takes in what he can see as Bucky closes the gap between them: bruises on his chest and arm, a cut across his bicep as well as a shallow one on one sharp cheek. Steve knows he’s in similar shape, though his shield protects most of his front. His injuries tend to be on his back.

Steve gestures for Bucky to sit on his lap and the brunet goes willingly. The first thing he does is pepper Bucky’s face with soft kisses, his tongue stroking lightly over the cut on the other man’s cheek. Bucky doesn’t wince—it’s really not that bad—but he does hum a little. 

The gentle massaging of Steve’s hand quickly becomes rough and possessive, gripping Bucky’s hips tight to drag him closer, rubbing their erections together until the blond finally flips then both over towards the center of the bed. Bucky lands with little to no grace, digging his blunt fingernails into the skin of Steve’s arm and leaving faint marks. Steve just growls and yanks at Bucky’s right arm, raking his fingers down even harder close to the cut there. Mild pain spikes through the brunet, Steve barely reopening the wound and making him whine, his cock hardening even more. Steve locks gazes with him and gently grazes his fingertips over the livid marks he’s made before bending down to lap at the few drops of blood just beside them. He moves on to Bucky’s chest, grazing his nose against each purpling bruise until Bucky fists his hair and practically shoves Steve towards the biggest one.

“Don’t remember this one,” Steve murmurs into battered skin. He exhales a warm breath before picking a spot not half an inch away.

“One of those damn robots punched me. Think you were street-level at the time.” Bucky whines as Steve sucks his own mark into his chosen place, just enough to pull blood to the surface but stopping before it becomes too angry. His teeth nip around it before he moves on to a series of rounded, yellowing bruises.

“I remember _these_. Wish we’d had Kevlar sixty years ago.” He pinches the skin close by with his teeth, hard enough to leave impressions of where he’d been. Bucky cradles his head while he works, swiping his tongue and blowing cool air after each one, until he has a phantom set perfectly beside the original. He moves on to Bucky’s left hip, this one both bruised and scraped, apparently meriting a large, square bandage. Steve frowns down at it and then up at Bucky.

The brunet shrugs. “Tore up a set of perfectly good pants. Stark wouldn’t stop about the ‘fell on my hip’ jokes.”

Steve remembers that vaguely. He’d been distracted at the time, trying to bait more Doombots (he’s with Tony on that one: it _is_ a terrible name) into one of Natasha’s traps. He smirks and moves close to Bucky’s groin before baring his teeth and pressing down hard, biting with enough pressure to raise perfectly even lines. The other man’s hips jerk up, Bucky moaning blissfully and ruining Steve’s path. He clamps down at the end in retaliation, sucking at the skin and pinning Bucky down with his hands. When he’s done, he mouths his way up Bucky’s cock to suck at the head, licking up the precum gathered there. He trails back up lazily and lets Bucky flip them both over, tracing his fingers over his new claims over his lover’s skin.

Bucky only finds one abrasion on Steve’s shoulder where he rolled badly across some rubble, but he licks over it and worries at the skin just above it anyway. Whereas Steve tends towards long, broad strokes of his tongue, Bucky laps carefully like a cat, pink tongue tantalizing as it flicks out repeatedly. Steve wonders if he does it that way on purpose. It makes everything sting longer, but he relishes it since it’s pain _Bucky_ gives him, searing new brands into his skin in possessively. They’re Bucky’s to make and his to heal, reclaiming Steve’s body from the battle piece by piece.

Already knowing what’s coming, Steve rolls onto his stomach, pushing up to his knees and arms so Bucky can kneel and examine his back. It’s nearly one large bruise, as it almost always is, although most of it is already all but faded. Only the worst parts remain: One long cut across a shoulder blade, a deep impression across his left flank deep enough to have bruised the ribs underneath, a deeper cut held together with liquid stitches right above one of his kidneys, and a cut along the back of his calf, a memento of a glancing blow he’d diverted at the last second.

Bucky traces a calloused finger under the deepest cut, breath hitching. Any deeper and it might have sliced the delicate organ underneath, earning Steve a stay in the hospital instead of stitches. This one will linger and Bucky _hates_ it. Ignoring it for now, he finds the lube and warms it in his hand before reaching down to circle Steve’s hole, making the blond sigh deeply. He presses in carefully, stretching his lover slowly and rubbing his hips with his free hand. When he finds that delicate bundle of nerves, Steve tenses and whines, pushing back against Bucky’s fingers needily. Smiling to himself, Bucky works another finger past his rim, twisting his wrist just to hear Steve cry his name. He strokes Steve’s cock into full hardness, letting it distract the other man from what he’s about to do. Slipping his hand free and aiming carefully, he puts his right hand just beside the lowest laceration and slides down Steve’s body to nibble around the one on his leg. He needs to let go of Steve’s cock to do it, so he works fast, biting down hard on Steve’s leg while raking his nails down the blond’s back, making him sob with the wave of pain and pleasure. The crinkle of Bucky opening up a condom has Steve breathing faster in anticipation, eager and ready. Bucky chuckles under his breath and slicks himself up before giving the blond what he needs.

As soon as he feels the first breach, Steve slams himself back to impale himself on the brunet, crying out in relief. Bucky just growls and grabs Steve’s hips to regain control, pressing back impossibly deeper before pulling out and thrusting in again, harder than before. He can _see_ the ripple of muscle under Steve’s skin as he tenses his arms, finding purchase in the sheets so he can rock back, fighting against Bucky for control. Steve treats it like a game, damn him. Bucky can all too easily imagine the cocky smirk on his lover’s face and the amused gleam in his blue eyes. But that’s okay, because Bucky isn’t above fighting dirty.

The next time Steve pushes back, Bucky leans down and bites him again, digging his fingers in directly opposite the blond’s shoulder blade so Steve’s own momentum pulls his skin tight and earns him deep gouges from Bucky’s fingers and teeth. It punches Steve’s breath from his lungs and makes him weak at the knees, causing him to collapse onto his pillow and mewl helplessly while Bucky pounds back into him. Bucky reaches down to pinch Steve’s nipples roughly, changing his rhythm to slow, deep strokes to prevent Steve from predicting the pace. The blond gives in unwillingly, clamping down around Bucky’s cock as a last act of rebellion. That earns him a slap on the hip, hard enough that Bucky can feel it inside him, Steve’s approving groan muffled by the pillow. The brunet grabs the hair at the nape of Steve’s neck, metal arm gripping hard enough to turn the skin there white, using the leverage to once again pick up his pace. 

Bucky is trembling, misted in sweat and panting softly, grunting with the effort of hauling Steve back for that satisfying slap of skin on skin, making the bed sway beneath them. Steve is nowhere near close, though, so Bucky angles his hips, nailing Steve’s prostate and reaching down to pump his cock in his fist in time to his thrusts. The change in Steve is instantaneous: he rears his head and shouts, words tangling on his tongue. It rocks Bucky back and Steve arcs to sit on his cock, reaching back to grab Bucky’s hair, riding him furiously. Bucky’s eyes widen, the shock freezing him in place as he desperately staves off his orgasm. He’s nowhere near finished with Steve yet.

Rumbling deep in his chest, Bucky shoves Steve away, pulling out and pushing the blond’s head down, pinning him there with one hand before driving himself back in. He can feel rather than hear Steve’s answering wail as he forces Steve’s knees further apart, depriving him of any leverage he might have had. He places his metal hand next to the angry purple mark across Steve’s ribs and grips the opposite hip tighter. In one violent motion he sheathes himself in Steve’s body hard enough to drive the air out of his lungs and fists his left hand, crushing a purple mark into Steve’s skin. The radiating pain catapults Steve over the edge. His screams until there’s no breath in his lungs, body collapsing in on itself to hide from the onslaught of pain transforming too rapidly into pleasure. Bucky’s grip tightens even more as his orgasm crashes into him, Steve’s name lost in the roar of his rapture.

Steve takes a deep, shuddering breath, his body protesting the lack of oxygen. He shivers with aftershocks as Bucky carefully turns him over, gentle now that the frenzy has passed. As soon as the blond is situated, Bucky collapses beside him to press his face into the crook of Steve’s neck. They do nothing but breath for long minutes, recovering together. Eventually, Bucky presses their lips together for a tired kiss.

“Did it hurt too much?” Bucky sweeps his hand gently over the livid red marks across Steve’s chest. They’ll be gone sometime tomorrow, but he still worries.

“I’m just happy we’re alive.” Steve traces the cut on Bucky’s cheek, smiling softly. “Nothing hurts worse than the thought of losing you.”

The brunet can’t help his cracking yawn, bigger than the hand he raises to cover it. Steve smothers an answering yawn—they really are catching—and chuckles.

“You’ll feel better tomorrow. Let’s sleep.”

Bucky can only nod in reply, exhaustion finally setting in and sinking deep into his bones. His skin smarts, but he’s happy. Every cut, every mark on his body now belongs to the man he loves, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel that I should somehow apologize for this chapter. Also, _please_ don’t lick up someone’s blood of their skin. It’s such a bad idea.


	30. Role Play | Nurse (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is related to the prompt for Half-Naked, but you don’t necessarily need to read it for this one.
> 
> Tower AU, everything is awesome. :D

Steve eyes himself in the mirror critically. He’d ended up shaving his legs after all—turns out stockings just don’t work unless your legs are smooth. Stupid Bucky making him get the stupid skirt back. He never should have let it slip after the Halloween party that Sam had actually bought the damn thing. His pristine, white nurse’s outfit stares back at him. Frowning, he adjusts the cap with the red cross on it, as though by that gesture he’s somehow respecting the medical field. 

“Never seen a nurse who’d wear something so… _non-functional_ ,” he mutters to himself. Taking a deep breath, he glances at the oil he has warming next to a candle on the bedside table. He walks around (or limps—heels aren’t for the faint of heart) dimming the lights in preparation. Bucky will be back from sparring any second now, and he knows the other man has been running a course against some of their teammates. It’s endearing how Bucky loves to go all-out sometimes, coming back with paint in all kinds of interesting places. Tony always loves it too despite all his complaining about not getting to use his full range of flight. In the end the inventor had built a new suit that was easier to clean for the express purpose of use on the training sim courses. Steve had bowed out this session, pretending that he had paperwork to finish. In reality, he’d gone back to their room and done… this.

He’s still not sure about it, but he suspects this is something Bucky will like. The brunet seemed very sincere last week when telling Steve about his old fantasies of seeing the then-smaller man in one of the wartime nurse outfits. Given, this isn’t exactly the same, but neither are they. It’ll do.

Hearing the outer door open, he takes up his position and mentally braces himself, slapping a smile on his face at the last minute. It feels strained until he sees Bucky; his lover never fails to make him _really_ smile. The brunet hasn’t looked around yet, still in the process of closing the door and groping absently for the light switch. He frowns when he tries to flick it up, finding it already on.

“Steve, why is the light—” Bucky swallows his words, the silence ringing through the room as his brain weakly attempts to make sense of what he’s seeing. 

The bed has been remade with plain white sheets, corners tucked ‘hospital-style’ with precision. Their desk is unusually bare, polished until it gleams under a simple stethoscope and reflex hammer, ceramic pitcher and glass cups on doilies of all things. There’s a canvas medical bag with the Staff of Asclepios standing proud and the zipper partially open so a bandage can drape artfully over the side. The lights are all dimmed to cast the room in a twilight glow. Something smells vaguely of lavender, and Steve is standing there in red-accented white, hands clasped modestly in front of him and radiating innocent helpfulness from the white cap perched in his hair to the heels of his dainty white shoes. And the _skirt_ … Bucky’s mouth goes dry and he struggles to swallow.

Steve’s eyebrows pinch together in a frown. “You look exhausted,” he says, stepping forward. He takes the unresisting Bucky by the arm and maneuvers him gently onto the bed. Steve pushes brown locks away to feel Bucky’s forehead. “No fever…” the blond muses. He takes a penlight that Bucky can see how had been in the sad excuse of a pocket on Steve’s white top and grips Bucky’s chin to prevent him from flinching away as the light shines briefly in each eye. “Pupil response is normal.”

Bucky wonders if he’s having some kind of fit. Maybe Stark hit him too hard on the head today and he’s actually being hauled away to the medical room and having the weirdest concussion dream known to man. He can’t stop staring as Steve pours him a glass of cool water and presses it into his hands.

“Please drink, Mr. Barnes. We don’t want complication from dehydration, do we?” Steve smiles innocently, blue eyes wide.

“Uh… No, we don’t. That would be… bad?” he tries. Steve just nods encouragingly and Bucky gulps the water down. In a weird way, it actually does make him feel better. Steve plucks the glass from him and sets it carefully in its place.

“I believe you’re suffering from overexertion and stress.” And where the hell did that clipboard come from?! Steve looks so serious as he scribbles away. Bucky’s brain has finally caught up to him and he thinks he can get with the program.

“So what’s the normal treatment, Nurse Steve?” He tries to look worried. Or at least serious. He really does. Unfortunately, if the severe frown Steve is giving him is any indication, he’s failing miserably.

“Fluids and bed rest. Go on, Mr. Barnes.” Steve inclines his head and Bucky wonders if he’s supposed to play sick, or strip, or what. He doesn’t exactly have a script here. But cue Nurse Rogers to the rescue. “You can’t go to bed stiff—” Bucky tries not to snigger like a second-grader “—so take off your clothes and lie on your stomach. I’ll give you some privacy, and I expect you to use that sheet for modesty.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Steve sounds so businesslike that Bucky actually starts folding his clothing carefully before stacking them on an empty chair. Even _that_ can’t stop him from ogling Steve’s ass, though. He wonders if Steve is wearing a thong because _damn_ that skirt is tight across his hips and butt. It has a flirty little flare at the bottom that barely skim his… Dear God, Steve shaved his legs. Bucky can see white garters peeking under the skirt to hold up the stockings. His brain almost short-circuits again. Do the garters have bows? Where else did Steve shave? Is he actually wearing panties or is he just going commando under there? Why can’t he tell from this angle?

While Bucky changes, Steve locks the door, pencil flying across the paper on the clipboard as he waits. When some hair loosens from its place, Steve unconsciously licks one finger to slick it back, tugging his nurse’s cap straight when he’s done. It’s the most adorable but sexy thing Bucky thinks he’s ever seen. His response is torn somewhere between ‘awww’ and ‘mmmm.’ He’s not sure where to put his face.

Bucky hadn’t been kidding when he told Steve about his old fantasy or, more accurately, a sort of day-dream. He’d ended up admitting it in the heat of the moment, but when he first enlisted, and then the time he spent in the trenches before Steve showed up, Bucky really _had_ entertained the thought of his frail friend tending to the wounded. Most of the nurses in their white clothes and gentle hands had been quite kind. They were who you went to first and who you saw last when you went to medical, and plenty had the kind of grimly cheerful kind of humor that you could only have when you were determined to keep not just your spirits up, but those of the people around you. Bucky could easily imagine Steve tying bandages or sitting by a soldier’s bed and smiling while he helped someone write a letter home. His Stevie, pretty as a picture, all in white and helping with the war in a way that made Bucky feel safe and Steve useful. Surely saving lives could be done in more ways than killing? But even to be a nurse, you had to pass a physical, and Steve just wasn’t going to pull that off. If he could, he’d be admitted as a soldier. 

So Bucky kept those little day-dreams close to his chest and if he sometimes imagined a pretty blonde nurse’s smile to be that of a stubborn punk with vivid blue eyes, well, it wasn’t hurting anyone was it? It wasn’t uncommon to moon after the nurses so no one took note of the occasional far-away look in his eyes.

By the time he’s done with his musing, he’s wrangled the bedclothes down and pillows into place, strategically placed under his stomach and hips so he’s practically hugging them. Remembering his instructions, he reaches back and draws the sheet up to his wait to ‘preserve his modesty.’ As though they don’t shower together most days. Well, from one point of view, _Nurse_ Rogers doesn’t share his showers.

“Done,” he grunts when he’s comfortable. He pillows his head on his arms and watches Steve out of the corner of one eyes. The blond just peeks and then nods, turning around fully and dropping off the clipboard and pen on his way to the bed.

Not even bothering to take off the white patent heels, Steve gracefully climbs into the bed, the mattress somehow only barely shivering with his movements. Bucky cranes his head around, trying to get a glimpse up Steve’s skit, but it only earns him another disapproving frown and “Please try to be civil, Mr. Barnes” and a firm tap on the cheek, so he gives it up with a grumble. Isn’t Steve taking this whole nurse thing a little too far? The next thing you know he’ll end up with a cold pack on his shoulder and a thermometer in his mouth.

Which makes it all the more surprising when he feels Steve’s weight settle over him, just north of his ass. The sheet is in the way so he has no way of knowing whether or not Steve is going commando. What he _can_ feel is the start of Steve’s erection as the blond reaches past him to grab a bottle he hadn’t noticed. He tenses when he feels a liquid pour in a thin trail down his back, but it’s nice and warm and the smell of lavender reaches his nose about the same time he can feel Steve’s strong hands spreading the oil gently across his skin.

Even though he’s still confused about whether this is cute or hot, he gives a pleased hum as Steve’s strong hands begin kneading the muscles of his back. He hadn’t noticed it, but his muscles _are_ stiff: tense and knotted and, now that they’re being paid attention, aching. 

He can feel himself relaxing under Steve’s ministrations, muscles loosening steadily as Steve works what absolutely must be witchcraft on his body. It continues that way for a while, Bucky pliant under Steve, eyes closed and mind blissfully blank. He’s one step away from sleep when Steve carefully shifts to straddle his thighs, dragging the sheet with him and pouring more oil to ease Bucky’s lower back. The movement pulls him from his daze a little, but he’s soon lost again to the intimacy of the moment. Without even thinking about it, the walls around his heart and mind relax as well, leaving him completely vulnerable. But he knows he’s in safe hands.

“That’s better, isn’t it?” Steve murmurs close to Bucky’s ear. The brunet doesn’t think much of it as he hums an affirmative, sinking deeper into that pool of tranquility even when Steve’s lips brush over the nape of his neck, leaving behind a pleasant ghost of sensation.

Steve shuffles back even further to massage Bucky’s thighs and Bucky outright moans, long and loud and definitely more sexually than he probably meant it. Steve has to resist rubbing himself again Bucky’s warm skin. He has a plan and that doesn’t feature in it. Yet.

Slowly, Steve works his way back up until he’s massaging Bucky’s upper thighs. He slips his thumbs into Bucky’s crack occasionally and when Bucky’s eyes snap open and he takes a sharp breath, Steve smiles to himself. He doesn’t stop his ministrations, even when Bucky shifts underneath him, trying to get comfortable despite his trapped erection. Steve slides his thumbs even higher until he’s parting Bucky’s cheeks and catching teasing glimpses of Bucky’s hole.

“I-isn’t that a little… unprofessional? Nurse?” Bucky’s voice is a shade too high.

“I _did_ say you needed to relax. That means _all_ your muscles,” Steve murmurs. Bucky tenses under him and Steve tuts. “Don’t get tense and make me start all over, Mr. Barnes.”

Bucky lets out a shuddering breath and attempts to relax, but Steve can tell the other man is fighting his own body’s instincts. Steve starts massaging that pretty hole, working until he’s pushing in lightly with one thumb. Bucky moans, tensing and relaxing by turns. Steve moves away, palming Bucky’s hips and lower bask and murmuring something about lumber regions. He’s starting to get hot and he’s uncomfortable hard, but he’ll be damned if he’s gotten this far only to jump the gun. He flirts his fingers around Bucky’s hole and listens to the heavy breathing underneath him. He probably doesn’t realize that he’s making tiny whimpering noises, but Steve does, so he gives Bucky’s body what it wants. On the next sweep of his hands he pushes past Bucky’s rim with one thick thumb, making the brunet clench and moan wantonly. Steve bites back the whimper rising in this throat and pushes in just a little more, circling to loosen his lover. Bucky curses softly as Steve withdraws, stroking over the muscle softly before inserting a finger properly, up to the second knuckle.

Bucky has to fight the desire to curl in on himself at the intrusion, sighing with relief. Steve thrusts his finger in and out slowly before adding a second. Bucky wants to wriggle, to force Steve to touch that one little spot in his body, but he suspects that if he tries Steve will just stop altogether. So he bears it until he’s rewarded with Steve’s other hand massaging under his balls, eliciting another, more heartfelt curse.

“Language, Mr. Barnes,” his nurse murmurs. Bucky wonders if he should apologize, but he can’t be sure his voice won’t crack. Steve’s own voice is already thick with lust, so Bucky figures that he’s winning somehow, even if he _is_ being chastised.

Steve takes his time opening Bucky up, oh so careful not to overstimulate him. By the time he decides the brunet is ready, Bucky is slick with more than just the massage oil and he’s panting into the pillow. Steve pulls his fingers free and swipes his hands clean on one of the baby wipes he stashed close by. He tugs until at one of Bucky’s arms until he turns over, eyes glazed. Steve pours more oil into one hand and begins to rub it across Bucky’s torso, still massaging as he goes. He pauses at Bucky’s dusky nipples, playing with them until they peak before sweeping his hands down to replace them with his mouth. His rubs his thumbs in circles over Bucky’s hips as he swirls his tongue over the sensitive nubs, the oil tasteless but fragrant. Steve glances up from under his eyelashes to see Bucky’s chin tilted back, mouth slack with pleasure. Smiling to himself, he moves on to the other nipple, still stroking his hands steadily over Bucky’s skin to feel his reactions, letting Bucky’s body dictate his path.

He has to slow down and wait when he hears Bucky start cursing again, sweat popping out all over his body and trembling all over. He waits it out patiently, until Bucky whines as he pulls back from the edge. Steve gives it another minute to be sure, kissing a steady line up the column of Bucky’s throat.

Steve slinks up for a kiss, long and filthy, breaking off only to breathe. Bucky gives him a dazed look and visibly collects himself. He gazes at Steve’s body, noting in an absent way that he was right—Steve _isn’t_ wearing underwear. His cock tents the white skirt proudly and _fuck_ , Steve really did shave _everything_. The white garters don’t have bows but they do have a modest amount of lace. Somehow that’s even more sexy, like they suit Steve’s personality more. Understated. Bold.

“What was that for?”

Steve nuzzles Bucky’s neck before hovering for another kiss, lips grazing Bucky’s as he murmurs, “You might feel a little pinch.” He claims Bucky’s mouth and reaches down to slide himself in, using the oil as slick and swallowing down Bucky’s surprised cry as he bottoms out. He relinquishes Bucky’s mouth and soothes his hand over the brunet’s skin, giving him time to adjust to his girth.

Bucky blinks owlishly and takes steady, measured breaths. “Stevie, did you just use an _injection_ joke?”

Steve rolls his hips to shut the brunet up. “It’s a classic for a reason.” Before Bucky can form a reply, Steve anchors himself firmly on the bed and pulls until only his cockhead is still in his lover just so he can slide back in, slow and luxurious and deep. Bucky whines but decides to let Steve take care of him, the pace excruciatingly slow but all the more satisfying for it. Steve’s cheeks grow rosy with the effort of holding back and the red cross on the white cap somehow becomes a point of fascination for Bucky. The blond seems amused to see Bucky’s grey eyes flick up to the hat and back down to stare at Steve’s face and even shakes his head deliberately just to see Bucky track the movement.

“I hope you weren’t this inappropriate with the nurses in Europe,” Steve murmurs.

Bucky’s eyes snap back to his and his entire demeanor changes, face determined and fierce. He heaves his body up, clenching around Steve to keep him in as they roll until Bucky is riding him. He curls in to deliver a rough, biting kiss. 

“Only for you,” he growls. “Hope you can handle a stubborn patient, _Nurse Rogers_.” And Bucky goes for it, fisting Steve’s blouse in his hands for leverage and riding him, rotating his hips to hit his own prostate and making Steve moan. Bucky flips Steve’s skirt up properly and immediately decides that Steve is going to bottom next time. Sometimes soon, so Bucky can take advantage of all that smooth skin and touch him, _taste_ him all over.

The blond has worked his lover up so many times that Bucky knows he won’t last. He pries the white blouse opens and attacks Steve’s nipples, and Steve must have ready to go judging by how his member pulses deep inside the brunet. Bucky hums and leans in further, framing Steve’s face in his hands to kiss him enthusiastically, swiping his tongue across Steve’s lips when he retreats. Bucky can feel heat blossoming through his body and fumbles to place Steve’s hands on his hips. Steve automatically takes over, lifting his hips to meet Bucky’s thrusts and taking over finding his own pleasure. When Steve comes, keening, he has just enough foresight to pump his fist over Bucky’s cock once, twice, and that’s all Bucky needs to slam him through his orgasm, whiting out as it rips through him, his cum erupting between the two men.

Bucky waits until Steve starts to soften and manages to find the baby wipes, taking a moment to clean them up. As an afterthought, he pulls of Steve’s heels and sets them beside the bed. Steve sighs as the damn things come off, wiggling his toes happily before leaning up to grab Bucky by the shoulders so he can pull them both back onto the mattress. Bucky squirms a little to get off Steve’s chest so he can snuggle properly by his side, resulting in almost poking his eye on the costume’s hat. Steve offers an apologetic smile and removes it, placing it neatly on the side table.

“So what’s my diagnosis?” Bucky can’t help but tease.

“Mmm. Healthy. Strong. You seem fine to me.”

“Hot, even?”

Steve shoots down the innuendo with the ease of long practice. “No, there was no fever. What you need right now is bed rest.”

“And you…?”

“My shift is over.” Steve turns his head and rubs his nose in Bucky’s hair, prompting the other man to cup his head. “I’m tired too.”

Steve’s breath evens out and his shoulders start to relax has he drifts off. Bucky presses his lips to short blond hair. “Thank, Stevie,” he whispers.

Maybe Steve isn’t as asleep as Bucky thought, because he can hear a faint, “My pleasure, Buck,” in Steve’s hushed voice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don’t know why it took forever for me to write this. @_@


	31. With Food (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to find not too creepy food. Did you know there’s a foreign film out there where the food sex involves a live shrimp? Am I the only one who thinks that might ruin the mood?
> 
> Divergent AU where everyone lives the in the Tower and hopefully doesn’t notice when things go missing from the pantry.

It starts, as many Avengers-related things do, with an explosion.

Wrecking Ball (Tony thinks that wannabe punks are running out of creativity. The team agrees) is raiding the gala they’d been attending looking for high-end jewelry for his on-again-off-again girlfriend. Why he can’t just knock off a jewelry store is beyond them, but only Steve, Tony, and Natasha are in attendance and Tony needs to buy time for his suit to assemble. Natasha works on evacuating the civilians while Tony take cover and summons his suit. Steve grabs the nearest shield-shaped item and flings it. An hors d’oeuvre plate crashes violently into Wrecking Ball’s head. When the armor arrives bearing Steve’s shield, it’s mostly a cleanup operation from there. A violent, tantrum-filled cleanup that ends with Natasha sliding across the dessert table, Tony flung through one window, and Steve crashing through the champagne fountain. Still, they get the guy and Shield comes to pick him up, presumably to go somewhere better suited to hold him than a county prison and sobbing about his girlfriend never forgiving him.

Although the guests (surprisingly) want to continue the party, Steve and Natasha choose to tap out. Steve suspects that Natasha gives herself permission to leave since Steve is, because normally she would never let something as base as stains on a dress keep her from having a perfectly lovely evening. Tony stays, though. The armor protected his tux and he informs the other two that the other guests are probably excited about being ‘involved in an incident’ and getting to ‘see superheroes fighting up close.’ Steve doesn’t think he’s alone in thinking those are silly, thoughtless reactions, but Tony assures them that he’s spent most of his life around this kind of thing and knows what he’s going. As they leave, Steve sees Tony’s face light up with his trademark ‘press’ smile and dive into a gaggle of excited women, so the Captain figures Tony can handle it.

Natasha grimaces and mutters darkly about stupid, pig-headed men thinking all women want shiny things all the way back to the tower. They stalk off into different elevators with a cursory salute so they can get back to their suits faster.

Steve has never been so grateful to get out of a suit, and considering how much he hates them in the first place that’s really saying something. As luck would have it, Bucky is there when he opens the door, bowtie and shirt undone and coat in hand. The brunet sits at the kitchen table eating a strawberry while he occupies his hands with peeling some other fruit that Steve is sure he knows but honestly can’t be bothered to remember. Bucky looks up, eyebrows quirking as he chews the fruit in his mouth.

The coat is probably ruined, but Steve finds a hanger anyway, draping the bowtie on the middle bar and hanging the whole thing by the door. Bucky doesn’t find his voice until Steve is almost to the bedroom, shirt off and fumbling with his wet socks and expensive shoes.

“Something smells good,” observes Bucky brilliantly.

“Someone crashed the gala.” Steve spares a grimace at his own bad joke. He moves on to the bathroom, Bucky trailing behind. “I got thrown into the champagne fountain.”

“Those things are real? Seriously?”

“Yes,” Steve grumps. “And now I’m soaked.” He turns the taps for the bath. He figures he’ll soak it off. At least he’s not Natasha, who is likely _scraping_ this mishap off at this very moment. Steve resolves not to run into her for the next day or so. She never takes kindly to messy fights in any sense of the word.

Bucky grabs Steve by the chin and kisses him, catching the blond by surprise. While the kiss is unexpected, it’s still welcome. Steve relaxes into it, letting Bucky lick into him and nibble his lips. When the brunet pulls away, he hums.

“Yeah, definitely champagne. The real stuff, even.”

Steve’s back stiffens and he glares. “If you’re just going to make fun of me, you can go entertain yourself somewhere else.”

“Ouch. Touchy, are we? I was just tasting, you know. Making sure it would do.”

“Do what?”

Bucky leans over and turns off the taps in reply. Steve tries to protest but Bucky just tells him to relax for a bit, spreading towels on the floor in a makeshift nest. Steve grumbles about getting the towels dirty too but ends up caving. He has no idea why Bucky wants him to wait, but the brunet had that stubborn look to him and Steve flat out doesn’t have the energy to fight over it. 

“Close your eyes, too. Relax or something. I’ll be back in a sec.”

Steve doesn’t really need telling twice. He settles in to wait, hoping that whatever is possessing the brunet won’t take too long. Technically he could take a shower in the amount of time Bucky said he’d be gone, but he doesn’t want to cause a fight. He’d been lying there for less time than expected when Bucky’s voice comes floating back.

“Don’t open your eyes!”

Steve obediently keeps his eyes closed as he hears Bucky approach, and next thing he knows there’s a cool, weighted cloth covering his eyes. He frowns.

“Buck, what the—”

“Quiet. Just tilt your head so it stays on. And hold still.”

Grumbling to himself, Steve does as he’s told. He’s forced to tilt his head back a bit to keep on the weighted blindfold and he tries to force his body to relax. He _really_ hopes Bucky isn’t going to pull a prank on him. Generally, he’s left out of prank wars. It isn’t that he can’t give back as good as it gets; it’s more that he just doesn’t. He prefers to walk trustingly into traps and give everyone that sad, confused puppy look and eventually it had worked—he had been deemed off-limits. Bucky knows better, though, so Steve hopes he isn’t being tested.

He can feel his stomach muscles jump as something cool wet is placed there. He frowns but stays as he is while Bucky places more things in a steady line up his body, tracing from just above his pecs to right before his groin. They’re lined with precision, but Steve can feel that every few are different shapes. When he’s done, Bucky nuzzles Steve’s neck lovingly before darting his tongue out for another taste.

“Buck, what are you doing?” Steve doesn’t know if he should be cautious, annoyed, or fond. Probably all three.

“Playing a game.”

“What kind of game?” Cautious it is, then.

“Just try to guess whatever I feed you.”

“Feed—”

Steve stops mid-sentence when he feels a mouth on his chest, moist tongue darting out to pick up the morsel there and lick the surrounding skin, sucking enough that he can feel it but light enough to stay sensual instead of becoming rough. The next thing he knows, something wet is tracing his lips. He opens his mouth obediently and Bucky slips him something, sealing their lips in a kiss as he transfers the food. Steve can taste something sweet and tart along with a hint of the champagne coating his body. 

“While you’re guessing, I’ll have mine,” Bucky murmurs in his ear. He almost chokes when he feels Bucky pick up a second piece, this time grazing Steve’s skin with his teeth. Steve rolls what has to be a piece of fruit around in his mouth. Bucky apparently started him off easy: this one is covered in tiny seeds and tastes of summer.

“Strawberry.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Bucky picks up the next in line and transfers it from his mouth to Steve’s again. “They’ll get harder as we go on. Pun intended.”

Steve would groan at the lame joke if he wasn’t already turned on. Plus his mouth is full. Whatever he’s chewing is small, squishy, and light in flavor. Maybe a little… watery? “Some kind of berry?” he hazards. “Blueberry?”

“You don’t sound confident.” Bucky feeds him another piece and Steve can feel the brunet’s jaw working to eat his own bit.

“Blueberry.” He tries to inject confidence in his voice. He can feel Bucky hum affirmation into his skin as he moves on to the next fruit. This one still tastes of summer, but it’s shaped a bit like a wedge and is much sweeter. “Peach.” He’s actually starting to have fun with this. Bucky accuses him of as much when he sees the quirk of Steve’s lips.

“I guess there are worse things to be thrown into than a champagne fountain,” is Steve’s sheepish reply. Bucky shuts him up with the newest tidbit. 

Tangy, light acidity, more firm than the peach. “Apricot. I thought this was supposed to be difficult?”

The next time Bucky feeds something into Steve’s mouth, be forces the blond to guess while Bucky slowly nibbles his piece directly off Steve’s skin, lapping up traces of the alcoholic beverage as he goes. It certainly makes things… _hard_.

“Ah…” Steve struggles to think of something other than Bucky’s clever tongue and the way it must look trailing across Steve’s body. “Uh… f-fruit?” he hazards.

Bucky chuckles warmly. “Technically correct. Plum.” Bucky sucks at Steve’s neck and then his fingers, using his hand to give him the last item. This one is a little beyond Steve, although he knows he’s eaten it before. Slightly fibrous, sweet but tangy, kind of… citrusy? He’s forced to admit defeat.

“Mango,” Bucky declares smugly. “That means I get a prize all for myself.”

Steve opens his mouth to ask what that his when he feels warm heat envelop his cock, the surprise making his hips jerk up in response. Bucky lets him, gagging and moaning at the same time before placing one hand firmly on Steve’s abs. Steve swipes the blindfold off in time to hear Bucky’s lewd moan, the vibration traveling straight up his spine and making him arc his back, gasping. He blinks quickly, trying to readjust to the light, but it’s of little use when he keeps having to close his eyes against the onslaught of his lover’s talented mouth. Another hum jolts through him, Bucky’s throat working the head of his cock as the brunet swallows around him. Steve manages to catch a glimpse of Bucky and _fuck_ that was a bad idea. The sight of Bucky’s pink lips spread around his erection almost makes him come. Bucky sees him looking and winks before diving back in with enthusiasm. He’s not holding back at all, hands massaging anything he can’t fit in his mouth, palming Steve’s balls, making every noise he knows turns the blond on. 

Steve can’t even think with the onslaught of sensation. He’s reduced to whimpers and gasps and can’t even form words fast enough to warm Bucky before he’s shooting down his lover’s throat. Bucky takes it all and laps at Steve’s softening member as though he’s looking for more, and Steve realizes that the brunet is jerking himself off feverishly. He reaches down to grab Bucky firmly by his chin, pulling him up into a deep kiss and batting the brunet’s hand away. Steve takes over, rubbing his thumb over Bucky’s leaking slit and pumping his hand hard but slow. He tugs until Bucky is on his knees before reaching around with his free hand to massage the brunet’s hole. Bucky’s breath starts coming faster and Steve speeds his rhythm, still kissing, slipping a single digit into his lover and stroking firmly. He’s rewarded with Bucky pulls away with a curse, almost sobbing as his orgasm overtakes him and white ropes shoot out to cover Steve’s body.

Uncaring of the mess, Bucky collapses on top of Steve and sweeps back tacky blond hair, smiling into yet another long kiss.

“Think I found something else that goes well with champagne.” Bucky smirks and licks his lips exaggeratedly. 

Steve _does_ groan at the bad joke this time, shoving Bucky off him roughly but fondly. “Just get in the damn bath.”

“Oooh, starting to feel like Pretty Woman over here.” Bucky waggles his eyebrows. “Am I going to get another drink and a bubble bath?”

Steve snorts and reaches over to turn the hot water back on. “Get in and find out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t ask me because I don’t know. orz


	32. Anything You Want (E)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this one is a little vanilla. I just wanted something fluffy and happy. :3 I meant to have this out yesterday, but it’s extra-long so I’m using that as an excuse and sticking to it. Read on to find the surprise!
> 
> Set in canon divergence where everyone lives in the Tower and are all about to be a lot happier.

Bucky has gone into battle against Nazis with disintegration guns, been captured, tortured, experimented on, died (okay, it didn’t take, but he thinks it should count), turned into a human killing machine, treated like a dog, killed more innocents than he can count, and almost killed his best friend. And in all that time, he has _never_ been more anxious than he is at this very moment.

Which makes no sense whatsoever, but try telling that to his nerves. Logically, it’s a foregone conclusion and, according to everyone else _including_ Stark’s damn AI, long overdue. But as Bucky smooths the lapels of his much-too-expensive all-black tux, all he can think of is that no matter how much he drinks, none of it will soothe his jangling nerves. Never mind being super; he just needs something to calm him down.

Natasha, wearing a blue dress with a cut barely half a step up from pornographic (and wearing it like royalty), bats his hands away from his hair and frowns severely.

“James, don’t make me taze you just to force you to relax, because I will. And leave your hair alone. The more you touch it the more likely you are to ruin it.” Natasha eyes him critically, her gaze stopping to linger at his left hand. “Why are you wearing a glove?”

Bucky shifts self-consciously. “Well, you know, all black and…”

“Take it off.”

“But I—”

“I’m not telling you again.”

Defeated, Bucky removes the offending glove and tosses it on a table. Rhodey, who must have the patience of a saint, God bless him, chuckles in his dress blues. “If you’d told me last year that someone so renowned that Interpol was scared he even existed would be as nervous as a girl at prom, I would have had them thrown into a mental institution.” He cockily adjusts one of his ribbons in the mirror, shoving Bucky out of the way to do it.

Bucky could have worn dress blues—well, technically greens. The colonel had even offered to find a set of regulations from circa 1945, but Bucky had declined. Not only would he feel that it was dishonest, but he didn’t need the reminder of a more painful time. If anything, he still felt like he should be wearing grey trousers, white shirt, and work boots. But he’s aware that not only would that be grossly inappropriate, but Natalia would murder him as well. Not that Steve would mind anything short of the murdering bit. Steve lives to make Bucky happy and would probably agree to just about anything.

Is it too late to elope? 

He doesn’t realize he’s spoken out loud until another voice answers him.

“ _Way_ too late. Hello, blushing bride.” Tony wanders in with a cocktail already in hand. Bucky can tell from here that it doesn’t actually have any alcohol, but Stark carries it with his usual swagger all the same. Pepper somehow coaxed his usually garish wardrobe into simple pinstripes with splashes of red here and there, although that may have been a futile effort. Tony could make a burlap sack look flashy.

“I’m not the bride. _Or_ blushing,” Bucky growls. Natasha recaptures his attention by fussing over his cornflower blue pocket square.

“That’s what the good ol’ Captain said, so I assumed you two worked it out between yourselves. Whoops.” Tony folds himself into an empty chair and looks around. “Rhodey! Sugar-bear! You should really get a drink. You look like you’re going to an awards ceremony with the president or something.”

“Not helping, Tones,” Rhodey warns. “We’re in a room with two world-class assassins. You really want to keep talking?”

“Good point. Lips are sealed, no more bothering people, yadda yadda. Did I mention that it’s five ‘til?”

“WHAT?!” 

Tony flinches at the collective roar of everyone in the room. “Rhodey told me not to talk! Don’t look at _me_ like that!” he protests.

On cue, Thor sweeps into the room. “Sam has sent me to deliver dire threats unless you make haste, though I trust that won’t be necessary.” Despite the alleged threats, Thor is smiling like a proud father and even more jovial than his normal self.

“Just running out the door. Aren’t you supposed to be ushering or something? Go usher.” Tony flaps his hands dismissively. “I’ve got this one covered, big guy.”

“I am presiding over the ceremony,” Thor booms with pride. “Doctor Banner declined the honor, if you recall.”

“Right. That would be the ‘or something.’ Go stand and look important.” Tony promptly turns back to Bucky, brushing invisible lint off his suit. “Nervous? Cold feet? Ooh, sorry, bad choice of words there. Second thoughts? I can still lend you a jet to elope somewhere warm and sunny. It’s practically on standby.”

Bucky frowns. All joking aside, he _had_ wanted to elope, but Steve is a traditionalist in some ways and would have been crushed not to share his happiness with their new family. “No, no second thoughts. Just wishing we’d done this sooner. ‘Course, it was illegal back then,” he muses.

“No need to remind us of your age,” Natasha informs him coolly. She’s the only one not subtly grimacing in distaste. “Come on, I can hear the music.”

Tony and Rhodey bolt out the door to find their seats. Despite his words, Bucky is still technically walking down the aisle, although he’s after Steve. They couldn’t figure out another way to do it aside from them _both_ walking at the same time, and the best of three coin tosses landed Bucky as the last one making the trek. In concession to the indignity, Natasha, his best man, will walk with him. As he waits for his cue, he suddenly regrets this choice. He’d forgotten somehow that Natasha practically floats when she walks; he’ll look like a lumbering fool next to her.

Everyone has been standing for a while, but as the last person to the altar, Bucky is the subject of a large number of stares. It’s an uncomfortable feeling, having spent most of his life now being a sniper, but he bears it stoically. Natasha’s hand is light on his arm and he can tell without looking that she’s radiating a serene smile. He tries his best not to look at Steve because if he does he knows he’ll be overwhelmed. He concentrates on walking evenly and matching Natasha’s graceful strides.

He’s still avoiding eye contact when he stops, exchanging a kiss on the cheek with Natasha before she takes her place stage left. He focuses his gaze on Steve’s hands which are twitching with nerves. Well, at least Bucky’s not the only one.

Despite what most people think, Thor doesn’t actually wear his armor all the time. He has an assortment of casual wear and even a handful of formalwear for Avengers events. Today he’s wearing a bespoke cream-colored suit and holding a Bible. Thor’s enthusiasm means he doesn’t need to use it, but after watching a rehearsal, Pepper had said with exasperation that Thor gestured too often and shoved a book in his hands in an effort to give them something to do besides wave around.

Bucky glances at the crowd from the corner of his eye. They’re holding the whole thing on the roof of Avengers Tower for privacy, and they severely limited the guest list for the same reason. It’s basically down to the Avengers and their significant others, plus a handful of SHIELD agents. It was either this or make a national event out of the thing and _that_ would have led to needing security and all the Avengers plus more agents with weapons and on high alert, possible picketers, news crews complete with cameras… Better to have it this way. Hell, they didn’t even hire a coordinator, photographers or videographers. Pepper apparently has a weakness for wedding planning, Parker’s using the opportunity to add to his portfolio, and JARVIS can tape anything happening from just about every angle in multiple modes and from a damn satellite if he really wants to.

Thor starts talking, thanking everyone for being there and going on about it being a huge honor to preside. Bucky knows it’s probably touching and very formal but he can’t in all honesty say he’s listening to a single word. All he can think about is how sweaty his hand is and panic a little over where the hell Natasha could be hiding Steve’s ring. Wedding rings might be a little impractical in their line of work, but Steve desperately wanted them and Tony managed to get his hands on some adamantium. Technically Bucky already has his ring on, having replaced one of the fine plates on his left ring finger with a gold-alloyed band. There’s another one for the ceremony, though—something with a clasp designed to snap on comfortably for show.

There’s a long beat of silence before Bucky realizes with a jolt that everyone is looking at him. Shit, he’s supposed to be talking. Shit.

He glances at Thor, who just keeps smiling widely and gives him an encouraging nod. Well, then.

“Uh…” He struggles to look at Steve and fails. If he looks at those blue eyes he’ll never be able to talk, so he doesn’t. He focuses on the air just to the side of Steve’s left and opens his mouth. “Pepper—Miss Potts, I mean—she told us both to write something down so we wouldn’t forget, but to be honest most of my life with Stevie’s been about shooting from the hip, so to speak, so I guess I don’t need it. Plus I can’t remember where it is.” This earns him a light chuckle from their friends. Drawing confidence from the sound, he continues.

“I could go on about how me an’ Stevie met; how he was a blond punk who didn’t know how or when to pick fights, what it meant to give up or stay down. I could talk about how he followed me into a war, or how he saved me from the one in my head. And I could talk about how much I love him until the sun falls from the sky.” He takes a deep, bracing breath and finally, _finally_ looks his intended in the eye. He wills his voice not to falter. “But all of that’s already settled. The stuff in the past is staying there, and ninety years in I don’t figure Steve’s going to change too much.” Steve’s eyes crinkle in a fond smile. “So all I really have to say, Steve, is that I have, do, and will always love you. I stopped being alone the second I met you and you’ve never let me _be_ alone since. I might f… _screw_ up sometimes, or a lot, even, and it might be cocky for me to say it but I know you’ll love me anyway. You might be a punk, but you’re _my_ punk, and today’s just so’s everyone else knows it.”

Dammit, when did his eyes get wet?

Steve clears his throat and nervously tugs a crinkled piece of paper out of his breast pocket from behind the ice-blue kerchief there.

“I wrote something down,” Steve admits. “But I lost it. I just drew on this so it looked like I remembered.” He flips the note around so Bucky can see it: on it is drawn a heart with an arrow through it and the words ‘J.B. + S.R.’ He hands it to Bucky, who shows it to Thor and then the audience. Another chuckle sweeps through and Bucky carefully refolds it and stows it away. He’s going to frame it later.

“That kind of sums it up, I guess,” Steve continues. He grabs Bucky’s hands and squeezes them. He’s shaking. “Pretty much all my life I think things through and then at the last minute everything changes and all my plans go out the window. I’m glad, though, because that’s how I met you.” Unlike Bucky, Steve talks as though they’re the only two there. “It was stupid at thirteen to try and fight that many guys at once, but you came to my rescue. It was stupid to hare off to Europe, but you saved me then too, even if you didn’t know it. Every time I turn you’re flipping my life around but I can’t even bring myself to care since it’s _you_. There’s no one else I love more or who I’d want to mess up my life with, James Buchanan Barnes. Why you’d want a punk from Brooklyn still don’t know, but I’m yours for as long as you’ll have me and longer still.”

Fuck, _fuck_ , he knew he’d cry. His only comfort is that Steve’s mouth is trembling and behind him even Sam is surreptitiously wiping at his face. Even so, now that he’s started, he can’t look away from Steve’s eyes.

Thor, while not wholly unaffected, goes on in a steady voice. Maybe it comes with being a prince. “Steven, do you have the ring?” Sam produces it, handing it over and looking as collected as he can with his eyes so watery.

Steve takes Bucky left hand in his, slipping on the band. “I can’t wait to spend forever with you, Buck,” he whispers for their ears only.

Without prompting, Natasha produces the other ring from… somewhere… and Bucky accepts it. It’s cold, surprisingly, so he takes a moment to warm it in his palm. “Forever lasts for as long as you love me,” Bucky whispers back. The legal document is passed around, Thor, Natasha, and Sam signing it. Natasha keeps it to deliver later. As soon as they’re done, Thor speaks again.

“To use the words traditional to Midgard: I now pronounce you married. You may kiss.” The last part he says almost like a hint, as though Steve and Bucky might not know they’re supposed to. It makes Bucky want to laugh a little, but then his lips are occupied by Steve and, _oh_.

He hadn’t expected anything to change, but as soon as Steve pushes their lips together it hits Bucky all at once that this is their first kiss being officially married and… And oh shit, he’s done it, he’s married _Steve Rogers_. They’re going to store proof of it somewhere and it’s probably going to go into some kind of databank and this is something no one can take away from him now. And then he’s crying in earnest, happy tears that fall unabashed down his face as he pulls Steve back in for another kiss to the delight of their friends and the bright flash of camera lights.

The two of them hold each other’s hands and let Sam and Natasha go first so the best men can slip away. Steve and Bucky go more slowly, doing double duty by walking back down the aisle while treating it like a reception line. Since it’s Stark, there’s no need to wait for food to be set up. Anyone who doesn’t want to wait or who has already tendered their congratulations just heads to the area set up behind stands of gauze curtains. The newlyweds join them in good time. They slip in quietly, not wanting to raise a fuss. 

About two hours in of dancing (or rotating in place in Steve’s case), toasts (none too long, thankfully) and food (dear God the food), Tony sidles up to the happy couple, Pepper in tow.

“So, I might not have been entirely joking about that jet,” he says by way of greeting. Steve stares at him, but Bucky can only bring himself to feel _mildly_ surprised. It’s Tony after all. “Present from me and Pepper: free flight and accommodations at a nice tropical retreat. You know, white sand beaches, not too many people, lots of fresh food, etc. Take lots of pictures, and if they’re nude keep in mind that JARVIS has way more secure servers than—ow!”

Pepper primly lowers her clutch while Tony rubs the back of his head. “Director Fury arranged to give you both a week off. It’s SHIELD’s gift to you. The other agents will handle your paperwork and Thor agreed to stay until you two return to handle any emergencies.”

Bucky feels a lump form in his throat. He and Steve don’t need much and he knows he’s not always trusted by the others, particularly SHIELD, but they’re still going out of their way to gift him and Steve something precious. “Thanks,” he manages. Steve’s hand squeezes his under the table.

“Clint and Natasha are standing by to make sure you get away clean. Sam will tender your apologies.” Pepper hugs each of them once before looking up and blinking rapidly, saving her makeup from threatening tears. “The plane is completely stocked, and so is the bungalow. Please call us when you arrive?”

Steve and Bucky shuffle out of their seats and bend to kiss Pepper’s hand one at a time.

“Thank you,” Steve says earnestly. “It’s…” He flounders for words.

“…Generous. Wonderful. Amazing,” Bucky supplies. Steve looks at him, relieved and happy.

“Okay, I’m about to start hugging people and actually crying, so get out of here. Who the hell am I kidding? Hug me and _then_ get out of here.” Tony gives them each an actual, real hug, nothing like the usual clap on the shoulder or one-armed side squeeze he normally doles out. The two are still at a loss for words when Bruce walks up.

“What are they still doing—What are you still doing here?” The doctor shifts his focus from Tony directly to the newlyweds. “Never mind. Here, I forgot to give this to you. Everything in it is organic and all-natural. I was going to leave it in your rooms for when you returned, but since you’re still here…” He shrugs. “You’d better leave before they try to cut the cake, though.”

“Okay, okay,” Bucky laughs. Steve takes the small tote from Bruce with a word of thanks. Bucky has never been kicked out of his own wedding before. Given, he’s only been married once, so rephrase: He’s never seen the actual couple evicted from their own wedding with such… conviction. “We’re gone. C’mon Stevie.”

They manage to slip down a staircase and are barely down the first hall when Clint ambushes them.

“Took you long enough. Tasha is gonna kill me. You’re three minutes and eighteen seconds past expected time, so you’ll have to make it up while changing. In here.” The archer opens a nearby door, shoves them both in, and closes it. “You have six minutes!” he calls from outside.

They locate more casual clothing, a nod to their wedding evident in Bucky’s been given a cornflower blue hair tie and the ice blue accents on Steve’s shirt. Six minutes is an excessive amount of time for ex-military _and_ active Avengers to change, especially into civilian gear, so Bucky sticks his head in the sink to get rid of the product in it before tying it back again. He feels much more like himself after that. They leave the room in exactly six minutes, much to Clint’s relief.

“Phase two is a go,” he mutters, and does he actually have a comm? It certainly seems so, as Clint nods to himself and pauses to adjust his course twice on the way to the elevator. Once there they go to the garage without stops, and Clint pops out first, for all the world like he’s doing a perimeter sweep. “Secure,” he declares proudly.

“I’ll take it from here, Hawkeye.” One of the cars—a conservative one by Stark’s standards—has a window rolled down and lacks the distinct vanity plate Stark uses, fitted instead with a Pennsylvania tag. A pale hand waves them in. “Time’s wasting, boys,” Natasha calls lazily.

“Did you steal a new plate just to get us to an air strip?” Steve sounds like he wants to disapprove but can’t quite bring himself to do it.

“Maybe,” Natasha replies evasively. “Don’t need to draw any extra attention by showing off that Tony Stark is running around town. It’s too easy for the press to piece things together these days.”

“…She said as though she’d also lived in the forties.” Bucky supplies. He finds a soft drink and pops it open, gulping the sugary beverage gratefully.

“If I had, I’d never tell you,” she volleys back. “Now shut up and enjoy your time with your husband.”

“What, you telling us to make out in the back seat like teenagers?”

Steve is turning more red by the second and has progressed to looking like he wants to sink through the floor.

“Hey, it’s your day. Do what you want; I’m not going to stop you.”

At this point, Steve is desperately looking anywhere but at Natasha or Bucky, pretending that the control button for the window is the most fascinating thing he’s ever seen. Bucky just laughs and grabs Steve’s hand in his own, indulging in a kiss to his knuckles that has Steve blushing worse than ever.

*

As promised, the plane is well-equipped with anything they could possibly want. There’s even a perfect miniature replica of their wedding cake alongside a bottle of champagne already waiting on ice. At Steve’s insistence, they record and send a video thanking their guests and explaining their sudden absence, even making a show of cutting the cake and feeding each other. After that, they decide to put on a movie during which Steve falls asleep about halfway through. Bucky smiles to himself and looks down, stroking the ring on his newly-minted husband’s hand. He decides against sleep and gets up to stretch and find a blanket, intending to snap a picture of the dozing blond.

Rummaging through neat cabinets, he finally finds the one with plush throws and some stacked pillows. There _is_ one anomaly: Sitting innocent as you please are a box of condoms, lube, and a sticky note. “In case you want to join the Mile-High Club. – Clint.” 

Bucky looks around as though the archer might actually be there before shaking his head and pulling out his phone to look up whatever club Clint is talking about. When he gets the results, all he can do is crack an evil smile. He’s glad he got to this before Steve because the other man would probably have hidden it and never breathed a word. After all, Bucky would hate to waste Clint’s thoughtfulness…

It takes him a few pleasurable minutes to get ready, but he’s pretty sure it’ll be worth it just to see Steve’s expression later. Using every bit of stealth that he would on a mission, Bucky kneels in front of the blond and carefully undoes Steve’s pants, eyes trained on his face to watch for signs of wakefulness. This is going to be the tricky part. He needs to be just firm enough not to tickle, but subtle enough that Steve won’t wake up straight off. He starts off at Steve’s thighs, testing to make sure he gets the pressure right. It takes a few false starts, but finding that perfect balance oddly gives him a solid sense of accomplishment. He slowly massages his way up towards Steve’s groin, musing that this latest skill could definitely come in handy (hah) in the future. He goes back to concentrating properly as he strokes over Steve’s hips, thumbs inching closer to Steve’s increasingly interested member. His steady circles turn to strokes, rubbing against the bond’s sac, passing across the burgeoning stiffness of his cock. Bucky backs off occasionally, moving on to his husband’s waist, hips, then back to his cock, eyes trained on that peaceful face all the while.

It doesn’t take very long for Steve’s cheeks to pink, his breathing altering just so. He gives a small whine and shifts his legs apart restlessly. Bucky keeps going until Steve’s eyes flutter open, head tossing back with a groan and looking down blearily.

“Buck? Wha— _ah_!” His head hits the back of the couch again and his hands fly up to grip the material on either side of his head, hips flexing as he gets well and truly hard.

“Surprise.” That’s all the warning Bucky gives before he’s mouthing the stiff line of Steve’s cock, pulling the other man down by the hips so he can slide between his legs to gain full access to his target. Licking his lips, he waits for Steve to look down at him before he swallows the blond’s cock down so far he gags with it, immediately sealing his lips and sucking with a hum of pleasure. Steve cries out again and this time his hands are in Bucky’s hair, gripping but not pulling as he tries not to thrust into the warm, wet heat. The brunet gives no quarter, ignoring Steve’s confused protests in favor of bobbing his head enthusiastically, pulling off to lap at his leaking slit and mouth around the sensitive skin at his base. He expertly reduces Steve to a moaning mess before moving on to his next surprise. Tugging Steve pants _down_ and his shirt _up_ , Bucky quickly strips out of his own pants, leaving them pooled by Steve’s feet before swinging up to straddle the blond.

Faced with a lap full of and eager husband, Steve crashes their lips together in a messy, heated kiss. He tastes like icing and champagne and Bucky can’t get enough. Steve’s hands come to up cup the brunet’s face, happily devouring his mouth. Steve moans appreciatively when Bucky rises partially to his knees, giving him the superior angle to plunder Steve’s willing mouth. It isn’t until Steve hears a familiar rip that he backs off.

“What…”

Bucky tosses him an amused smirk. “Stevie, I took off my pants. What the hell did you _think_ I was gonna do?”

While the blond flushes with... embarrassment? Excitement? Confusion?... Bucky goes to work rolling the condom on him and slathering his twitching cock with lube. Steve seems to have finally given up attempting to understand and instead follows Bucky’s lead, covering Bucky’s hand with his own and using both to squeeze a generous amount of slick onto his own fingers. Bucky has to hold back his smile until Steve reaches out to stroke his waiting hole, finding it already slick and waiting. Breath coming faster, Steve’s eyes widen as he regards Bucky, mouth working soundlessly. Bucky takes pity on him and goes back to kissing, long and slow and forceful. Steve being Steve, he checks to make sure Bucky is properly prepped anyway, getting to three fingers easily and moaning into Bucky’s mouth when he does. Smirking, Bucky grabs Steve’s probing hand, guiding them to the blond’s cock, lining up so he can sink luxuriously down. When Steve tries to reclaim his hand immediately, Buck wickedly tightens his grip. Steve whines high in his throat to feel Bucky’s body swallowing up his cock, stroking his rim to feel his stretching hole until necessity forces him away. Bucky laces their fingers together as he bottoms out, finally breaking off to voice a deep groan of satisfaction. 

He should probably feel tired after days of wedding stress, but having Steve nestled firmly inside him sends endorphins crashing through Bucky’s system, heart picking up its pace and lending him renewed energy. Bucky loops his free arm around Steve’s neck and presses their foreheads together, breath humid and lingering between them as he uses Steve’s body to help him pump up and down on the blond’s lap. Steve swallows hard and shakes as Bucky’s muscles clench rhythmically around him, only to snap his eyes open again a moment later to stare at Bucky in wide-eyed fascination. Bucky feels like time is both stretching and speeding up as he locks on to Steve’s hypnotic gaze. All he knows is Steve’s hand in his, Steve holding his waist tight, Steve’s panting, moaning breaths, Steve, Steve, _Steve_.

That’s what he cries—sobs, even—when other man takes pity on him and circles his throbbing cock. It only takes the barest touch to send Bucky careening over the edge, back bowing tight, clamping down around Steve so hard that the only noise louder than the blood rushing through his ears is the roar of his name on Steve’s lips.

Bucky can feel, faintly, when Steve helps slide him off his lap, gently laying him across the couch before disappearing. He returns quickly, chest and stomach clean, condom gone, with a wet cloth in tow. He follows every swipe of the towel across Bucky’s skin with his lips, grinning at the lazy hum that comprises the brunet’s only real reply. He doesn’t even remember struggling back into his discarded clothes, or draping over Steve’s warm body, or the blanket that settles over his shoulders as he falls asleep.

*

When Bucky finally wakes up it’s because the plane is already taxiing down the tarmac, wheels grinding and rumbling under them. He’s surprised he didn’t wake up earlier—usually he’s completely alert as soon as the altitude changes. Then again, usually he doesn’t have sex on the plane mid-flight. Steve smiles down at him, arms still wrapped securely around one another. Bucky can feel his face light up of its own accord in some kind of conditioned response: Steve smiles, Bucky smiles. His brain doesn’t _need_ it to make sense. He decides firmly that he doesn’t care today, whatever day that might currently be—he’s not keeping track—and can study it at length some other time.

Before they disembark, Bucky decides to toss the condoms in his bag as an afterthought because why not? It’s not like they can have too many. He might never know how Clint did it—probably doesn’t _want_ to know—but apparently he managed to sneak two pristine white cards into the sealed box proudly proclaiming membership to the Mile High Club (apparently they have complimentary service[ing]). Bucky tries to cover his laughter but only succeeds in letting out a series of unattractive snorts that alerts Steve faster than his actual giggles would have done. Bucky desperately tries to hide the box somewhere but the blond is long wise to his antics and manages to pluck it from Bucky’s hands.

Bucky can only shake with silent laughter as Steve’s eyes skim the sticky note, brows furrowing adorably before frowning at the business cards Bucky had tried so hard to stuff back in the box.

“Do I want to know?”

Bucky can only shake his head helplessly, doubled over in mirth.

“Does this involve something that Tony wouldn’t approve of in his plane?”

Frantic shakes of his head. Bucky manages to open his mouth long enough to gasp, “I think he’d approve a _lot_ ,” before the outpouring of laughter is too difficult to contain. As predicted, Steve goes bright red and shoves the entire thing into one of the bags, resolutely not looking at it anymore. Bucky has to fish the cards back out when Steve is loading up the car Stark (well, Pepper) thoughtfully provided because he’s childish and is damn well going to frame these too. He’s looking forward to seeing Steve’s face the first time he hangs his growing collection of mementos in their room.

Tony had severely undersold the getaway to them. It takes a bit of a ride by car, but that’s mitigated by how incredibly pleasurable it is to be there. The weather is mild, the air fresh, and the scenery bright. Steve laughs and yanks Bucky back into his seat when he catches the brunet sticking his head out of the window like an excited puppy. It’s hard not to keep staring, especially when they near what Bucky highly suspects is the ‘bungalow’ Tony threatened them with. It’s not even close to what Bucky would define as a bungalow. No, that would imply something quaint and habitable. What they’re looking at is some kind of architectural monster.

Not that it’s not nice. It has a distinctly serene look to it, all pale wood and natural stone, carefully arranged indigenous flora sheltering and defining the entire structure. It also has a driveway big enough to fit around ten cars, two stories, gigantic floor to ceiling windows and honest-to-God lamp sconces flanking the doors. For lamps. The kind with real fires in them.

The windows also give the two men early warning of what to expect inside: tiled marble flooring gives way to a sunken living room with different types of hardwoods offering handsome patterns. Overstuffed furniture in soothing color schemes share space with beautiful pieces of art—probably all originals—and graceful floral displays. Bucky counts at least two chandeliers. The kitchen is completely modern and, when the brunet pokes his head into the fridge looking for a snack, he discovers that JARVIS is present as well.

_:How may I assist you, Sergeant?:_

Bucky almost hits his head on one of the shelves. Scowling to himself, he snags a box of juice before closing the door. “Didn’t know you’d be here, JARVIS.”

_:Of course. Sir has me integrated into all of his significant properties, although I maintain a very small presence unless otherwise requested. As you and the Captain will be in temporary residence, I have been directed to ‘make myself useful.’:_

“You’re always useful,” Bucky says absently. He rolls his head on his shoulders, still a little stiff from his awkward nap on the plane. A swim, he thinks. A nice, long swim to loosen up his muscles, and then real sleep in a real bed.

_:Thank you, Sergeant. Will there be anything else? I have already informed Captain Rogers that Miss Potts recommended you both the guest house. It is significantly smaller, but closer to the beach and stocked with its own pantry. You may, of course, return here for any extra items you might require.:_

Damn, a guest house. “Nah, I’ll just go find Steve, thanks.” He grabs a box of crackers from the counter and wanders out the back door, casting around for that familiar golden gleam. He’s not disappointed, finding Steve partway down a path, holding all their bags and staring openly. Bucky originally intended to sidle up behind him and startle the other man, but as soon as he’s near he understands why Steve is just standing there.

Bucky never really understood the saying ‘white-sand beaches’ or ‘water so clear you can see the bottom’ or even ‘fresh sea breeze.’ Most of his personal experience comes from around Red Hook or north towards to the naval yards, where the water was choppy and stank of filth, salt, wet, and rotting fish and the beaches, such as they were, were mostly stone or unforgiving grey sand. He has limited memories of beaches in Europe and frozen lakes around Russia, all cold enough to freeze to death and the former often covered in fog. In short, nothing in his life actually prepared him for this.

Because the sand really _is_ glaringly white. He hadn’t thought about it before, but the air is a delightful mixture of clean sharpness tempered by the mellow salt of the ocean. And the _water_. It actually looks _blue_.

He can only assume that the path they’re on terminates at the promised guest house, and _thank you God_ it’s something much more their speed. It’s more like a half-open retreat with walls made of sturdy wood, thick trunks visible underneath the structure to keep the floor elevated from shifting sand and to provide extra ventilation in the warmer weather. The roof slants at a good angle to deter rain and is actually covered in… in island grass or something, and Bucky can’t tell if that’s something people actually still do or if Stark did this just to mess with them. The effect is overall charming, and it’s not like being roofed in grass will make much of a difference to their stay. For the second time that day, Bucky decides not to care.

After standing there for way too long and grinning like an excited schoolboy, Steve’s expression suddenly turns serious as he sorts through their bags, hefting them one at a time like he does when he’s checking kits for a mission. He solemnly hands about half the bags to Bucky and helps him get them situated, adjusting a strap here or moving a bag there before repeating the same procedure for himself.

“Uh… Stevie?” Bucky tries cautiously. Normally _Bucky_ is the one to randomly shut down and bypass feeling good to run straight for crisis mode, but he’s aware that Steve also has PTSD even if the other man copes extremely well on the outside. Still, it isn’t in character and Bucky isn’t sure what to do. “What are we doing?” He tries to mimic the soothing tone Steve always uses on him in those (now rare) occasions when Bucky might spook.

Steve straightens up and cups Bucky’s face in his hands, fingers delicately tracing the line of his jaw. The loving gesture makes Bucky melt a little.

“Last one there has to cook dinner,” Steve tells him with a perfectly straight face.

Between one blink and the next Steve is gone, bolting down the path at breakneck speed and cackling wildly. Cursing, Bucky sprints to catch up, yelling insults about Steve’s underhanded tactics and general lack of chivalry. Bucky evens the odds by putting on an extra burst of speed and tackling Steve mere feet away from the stairs, devolving the footrace into a wresting contest badly hindered by their own luggage. Sand flying everywhere, Bucky seizes the first opportunity he gets to tangle Steve’s hands in the straps of a rucksack that he promptly shoves between the two of them and abandons. He’s pretty sure that one just has clothes in it, so he kicks it for good measure before half-crawling up the stairs in his haste to get to the door. Steve is yelling for a ref and Bucky’s hand _just_ touches the doorknob when a strong arm is slung around his waist and he goes flying down several feet to land on the abandoned bags below.

“Oh, no, Stevie. Don’t even think about it. Don’tdon’t _don’t!_ ” His attempt to scramble out of the way fails spectacularly as Steve launches himself off the porch like a luchador, belly-flopping onto Bucky and dragging him for the second time into the sand. It drives the breath out of Bucky’s lungs and he reaches behind himself to lock an arm around Steve’s neck, grabbing the blond by the shirt and using raw strength to haul him up and send him flying over one broad shoulder. Steve rolls into the motion with an indignant yelp and selection of words that definitely warrant washing his mouth out with soap.

In retrospect, resorting to name-calling and throwing things might not have been the most mature _or_ effective tactic. First because he threw what was closest to hand, meaning the sand, and second because unlike snow, sand just blows back into your face and stings like a sonuvabitch and blinds you and tastes gross. He feels Steve breeze past him, dancing out of the way when Bucky lunges blind in a last-ditch effort to stop the blond. He knows he’s lost when he hears Steve’s happy whoop followed shortly by the door opening. Blinking sand out of his eyes, Bucky glares up balefully.

“Sorry!” Steve says.

He’s not sorry. Bucky just knows.

“I’ll carry the bags in, but you still have to make dinner.” 

Bucky grudgingly accepts the offer and nurses his wounded pride all the way to the living area, where he promptly forgets he has any pride at all. The interior is stunning: all high ceilings and airy elegance. Wide windows, gauzy curtains, low furniture… It’s the picture of an island getaway; the kind you only see in postcards. Antsy with anticipation, he grabs some of the luggage from Steve and hauls them both to the only other room in the house: the bedroom.

He is ecstatically, wonderfully, breath-takingly _not_ disappointed. The disgustingly large bed sports a high canopy and fine mosquito netting currently drawn back with ribbons. There are _two_ dressers, a long mirror, and what appears to be a shutter facing the bathroom. And he never thought he could fall in love with an inanimate object, but Bucky could definitely fall for this bathroom. An oversized garden tub sits under the shutter so anyone occupying it can push them aside and talk to someone in the bedroom without having to leave at all. The sill is a good few handspans: perfect for placing drinks or books or anything else you could possibly want. The tub even has two taps to fill it up faster. A glass shower shares space at the other end of the room, nozzles coming down from the ceiling and a bench in there because, holy shit, the thing can be converted into a sauna. Even the toilet is tucked discreetly into its own little closet, and an excessively large mirror above the twin sinks makes the entire place seem to double in size. He’s not one for displays of wealth, but this is undeniably appealing.

It’s completely perfect for fucking Steve Rogers.

Bucky can plan out how he intends to spread Steve on every surface, in any way he could possibly want plus some he’ll to make up on the spot. That false window sill, for instance. It’s just wide enough to sit on, and he could be wrong but it looks like the right height for all kinds of interesting things from the luxury of the tub. He’ll do more reconnaissance later.

“I knew we should’ve eloped,” Bucky declares as Steve wanders in curiously. The blond snorts.

“Usually that’s something people say while they’re still at the actual wedding, Buck.”

“Yeah, but just look at this place. We could’ve been here a whole day ago instead of running around like lunatics followed immediately by _standing around_ like lunatics.”

“It’s nice,” Steve concedes. “’Course, anywhere you are looks nice to me.”

Bucky hides the fizzing bubbles of warmth at Steve’s words by scoffing. “You’re such a sap.”

“I seem to remember you admitting that’s never gonna change. Y’seemed pretty sure that was a good thing at the time.”

Ahhh, fuck it. Even if Steve hadn’t gone in knowing he could win, he can still out-stubborn Bucky any day of the week. Instead of openly admitting defeat, though, he reels Steve in for a kiss. It doesn’t really work if Steve’s triumphant grin is anything to go by, but Bucky got a nice kiss from it and as far as he’s concerned that counts as a win. 

*

Bucky cheats again and throws together a small mountain of assorted sandwiches and raw vegetables for dinner. Dessert is any fruit he sees first, chopped, pitted or peeled as necessary. It speaks volumes for how tired Steve is that the other man doesn’t even muster a disapproving look, diving into the food instead. Bucky catches him nodding off over dessert, noticing glimmering trails of moisture from where Steve apparently missed his own mouth. Chuckling to himself, he hauls them both to bed early (or is it late?).

They sleep in for what feels like forever. Normally both men can do with so little sleep that jet-lag is virtually non-existent. Apparently, getting married takes up more energy than they thought. Bucky wakes up first and considers waking Steve. But his husband ( _husband!_ ) looks so innocent sleeping that he can’t bear to do it. He takes his time instead, cataloging every feature of the blond’s face like he hasn’t done this countless times before. So many things are the same. He’d been shocked at first, back when Steve came for him in Europe. It was crushing to think that the delicate artist he’d said goodbye to in Brooklyn had changed so drastically. Aside from relief at being alive and Steve was safe, he couldn’t help but mourn that he’d have nothing and no one to go home to. The brunet spent ages reconciling the tall man beside him with the punk he’d grown up with, but he’d managed eventually.

And then he’d had to start all over again. HYDRA had definitely done a number on his memories; he figures that’s what happens when people use an experimental procedure to wipe your brain repeatedly for seventy years. So when they started coming back (his memories, not HYDRA. Though to think of it, HYDRA keeps coming back, too) they’d been weird and patchy, sometimes interspersed with what he strongly suspects to be false memories implanted for reasons yet unknown. A lot of them, though, were from his life from _before_ the war. It meant that for months he jumped when Steve entered a room, even after he got used to the others. He’d actually adjusted to Tony first, much to everyone’s surprise. But it was logical, really: Tony Stark never entered a room without some kind of fanfare. Even Thor stomped into a room more quietly than Stark. It was a relief to know that he could locate Tony at any time, and Tony’s presence was never a surprise, or quick, or even subtle. He was very much there and very much liked you to know it.

Steve had been hurt; wounded, even. But while Bucky had regained most of his memories, he hadn’t regained the feeling of adjustment that came with them. So in his head Steven Grant Rogers equated to a ninety pound, five-foot nothing spitfire of a man held together by sheer force of will. Noble? Yes. Courteous? To a fault. Six-three and built like a brick shithouse? Not so much. It made him startle every time he even _looked_ at the blond, each and every time the visual equivalent of drinking water and finding out it’s vinegar. He’d gotten used to it, to everyone’s relief, but it’s still comforting to look for the little things that never changed.

Like how slender Steve’s fingers are: made for gentle touches and creation rather than fists and war. Or his eyes, pools of endless love and patience for his friends but the napalm burn of justice toward his enemies, tangible or not. Steve’s hair, always in practical, short styles no matter how else he wears it, still the same dark blond until it bleaches naturally in the summer sun. God, his _smile_ , open and generous, always inviting everyone else to smile with him. Bucky traces Steve’s lips fondly. Even his bearing is the same, for all that the body has changed. Sure, when he’s out in the field Steve is all confidence and business. Cool, calm, collected, whatever shit people always say about good commanders. But stick him in a hopeless situation and suddenly he’s a kid standing ground he knows he can’t keep but determined to do it or die trying. Bring him home and he’s that charming mix of anxious and easygoing, movements screaming uncertainty and embarrassment when you try to pay him a compliment while being so open and receptive it hurts. Bucky doesn’t know how anyone can help but fall a little bit in love with Steve Rogers.

Just now he’s even sleeping the same way Bucky remembers: curling his body in to conserve what little heat it produces, face half-buried in the pillow and long lashes shadowing his cheeks. In contrast, he’d ended up as the big spoon, his natural sleeping position forcing Bucky to press incredibly close to his body, legs tangled and one arm hugging the brunet to his chest like an oversized teddy bear. Bucky loves it; always had and probably always will. It takes him a good minute to pull himself free, eventually replacing his form with an overstuffed pillow to give Steve something else to cling to before pulling the soft cotton sheet over his prone form.

He resolves to made breakfast properly this time. No cheating.

Breakfast is something else that doesn’t have to change. They didn’t have quite as many choices or even as much food as he uses now, but there are memories within easy reach of him making eggs, toasting bread, boiling oatmeal, serving milk. When was the last time he made oatmeal? He smiles to himself and sets about making some. Warmth that has nothing to do with the heat of the burners simmers just under his skin. He’s not as good as Steve at timing when things will finish, but he’s not too bad either. Cold bacon never hurt anyone. Eggs are last, and then he’s placing everything at the table. He ends up having to put the oatmeal in a porcelain soup tureen, which seems a little demeaning to the tureen and also one of the more absurd things he’s done in his life. Heavy cream, cinnamon, brown sugar… Raisins would be traditional so he adds a few of those, but adds a large bowl of fresh fruit to the side as a suggestion. Let’s see… Almonds, walnuts, nutmeg, dried… what is this? Oh, apricots. Going for broke, he sifts cinnamon across the rim of the bowl and is attempting to figure out placement of a long mango peel when Steve catches him.

“This all for me?” Steve’s tone is joking as he moulds himself to Bucky’s back, placing his chin on the brunet’s shoulder and wrapping strong arms around his waist. Warm lips brush against Bucky’s temple and he hums in contentment.

“If you eat _all_ of this, you’ll sink like a stone when we go swimming.”

“Salt water is so much more buoyant. Besides, don’t chefs eat less of the food they’ve prepared?”

“Most chefs aren’t super soldiers. Stevie, isn’t there a better name for whatever the hell we are?” Bucky complains. He’s always hated that term: super soldier. It’s like a sci-fi novel. Of course, he has a bionic arm and they fight alongside a god and a man whose armor flies and talks even when empty, so maybe he should revise his viewpoint. No, it doesn’t make the term sound any better.

“Mmm. People?” He presses a kiss to the crook of Bucky’s neck. “Lovers?” Another kiss, like a punctuation. “Handsome?” This time Steve’s lips hover over Bucky’s skin so the brunet can feel him smiling.

“Punk.” He taps Steve’s hands. As much as the contact makes him want to purr like a cat, he really does want to eat.

“Wow, when was the last time we had oatmeal?” Steve’s face lights up like a child’s as he takes a seat. Bucky applauds himself silently for a job well done and fights to keep the smug look off his face while he loads his own plate. No food can ever be common if Steve smiles like that while he eats it, even if it’s just boiled grain.

*

The rest of the day is indulgently lazy. They roughhouse in the water before settling in for a proper swim, racing each other far from shore before realizing they have no solid marker to race _to_. That leads to another water-fight over the de facto winner and then a more organized race to the shore. Steve wins because Bucky spends the return trip swimming behind him and admiring the view. Then it’s a shower, lunch, and misshapen sandcastles. They might be able to throw entire motorcycles as impromptu weapons, but ask then to make basic shapes out of wet sand and apparently they’re helpless. Even Steve’s artistic talents can’t help the cause. Bucky gives up and makes a mound with a little round ‘door’ and a seashell handle and declares it to be a hobbit home. 

That prompts Steve to take a picture to send back to the Tower, which leads to even more pictures of the two of them mugging for the camera, and then secret pictures they take of each other when they think the other person isn’t looking. Bucky stealthily sends one to their friends of Steve tripping gracelessly into the surf. He’s proud of that one and deletes it as soon as it’s sent: he doesn’t want Steve to find it accidentally and ruin the fun, and he knows JARVIS will store a copy by default.

Steve draws while Bucky reads. The brunet pretends not to notice Steve surreptitiously sketching him, but he _does_ subtly shift around until he’s draped elegantly across the couch. Well, he _thought_ it was subtle until he hears Steve’s amused snort. Bucky smiles into the pages of his book and doesn’t move.

The sun sets so much later than it does in New York, so dinner is had at sunset. They eat with their plates in their laps, legs dangling off the edge of the porch. They’re too conscientious to leave off cleaning the kitchen, and by the time they’ve finished it’s properly dark. They stay up for quite a while just to bask in each other’s presence and watch the beach under the huge, bright moon. Bucky opts for another shower because he can and because the added salt in the air makes his skin feel tacky.

When he goes to turn in for bed (naked because why bother with clothes? They’re apparently the only people here) Steve is waiting for him with a strip of cloth and a stoppered glass bottle. The air is already scented with something light and sweet; he can see the telltale curl of smoke of burning incense. He casts Steve a curious look as he wanders over.

“Bruce,” is Steve’s explanation. “I’m not sure if I’m impressed or embarrassed that he gave us all-natural personal lubricant as part of our wedding gift.” He sets down the bottle and pulls Bucky onto the bed, smiling. Bucky quirks an eyebrow when Steve offers him the blindfold.

“Kinky.” He lets the blond secure it across his eyes.

“Quiet. I have an idea.”

All of Steve’s ideas are good ideas, especially in the bedroom. He lets himself be maneuvered, shivering in anticipation. Steve grabs his hands and guides them to the headboard until he can feel his fingers brush against the smooth wood.

“It’ll be better if you keep your hands there,” Steve murmurs. Normally this would work Bucky up even more, but Steve’s voice is hushed and a touch serious, hands gentle and movements deliberate.

He can’t make heads not tails of Steve’s actions. He can feel the blond stretch out beside him; can smell his hair and skin and feel the soft puffs of his breaths. Careful fingers stroke the line of his jaw and Bucky obediently keeps his hands above him, but that doesn’t stop him from trying to turn into the touch. Steve pulls away and moves on to trace the bridge of Bucky’s nose, then the shells of his ears and the raised bone of his clavicle. Bucky is still clueless, but he starts to relax into the gentle caresses. Steve’s path is easy to predict, wandering across, down, and around each of Bucky’s bones, the outline of his body, the dips and swells of his muscles. Then he feels Steve straddle him. The blond can’t be comfortable—Steve’s legs must be braced far apart, judging by how Bucky can barely feel their presence, and Steve is supporting almost all his weight on his own. Even his hands, one braced on the bed and the other still exploring Bucky’s skin, are only a light presence. Bucky is distracted when Steve’s plush lips start retracing the path his fingers took, ghosting across skin and peppering firm kisses here and there. His hair tickles and Bucky can imagine the dark gold strands dragging over him. Steve inhales deeply, taking in Bucky’s scent and exhaling warm air across his skin. His kisses turn into nuzzling, forehead and eyelashes playing in contrast to one another. It’s sweet and wonderful and makes something deep inside Bucky ache almost painfully. He grabs the emotion and picks it apart as Steve keeps going, now murmuring endearments.

Nostalgia. Bucky is feeling nostalgic. The barely-there weight, the feather-light touch of Steve’s clever fingers, the fluffy feel of his hair, his scent… With the blindfold on, it’s all too easy to picture a small man with birdlike bones and eyes too big for his face, all alabaster skin and endearing honesty when exploring his lover’s body and, God, how did he know how to do this? Bucky always knew Steve was the smarter one, but this… this _gift_ is more than Bucky thought he could have. The incense helps cut the salty tang of the air and the continuous shush of the sea can be dismissed as the faint rumble of cars on the road. Their tiny apartment unfolds around him: cracked and peeling paint, cramped bed, doors warped with age. All of Bucky’s favorite artwork, each piece made by Steve’s hand, pinned to the walls. Well-worn but clean clothes would be in their rickety hamper. The blanket would be folded at the foot of the bed to avoid dirtying it because it’s too difficult to wash all the time, and they can’t leave it wet since Steve’s poor circulation makes him cold even when it’s warm out. The small windows lead to a narrow fire escape that rattles every time the city’s pigeons launch from it, and water is always dripping down to their level because old Mrs. Mulligan upstairs keeps a garden on hers and waters a little too enthusiastically. If there’s ever a real fire Bucky knows he’ll have to run up there no matter how stupid it is to save her, partially because the plants take up the entire platform outside her window and partially because if doesn’t then he knows Steve will and he’d rather die than risk the blond’s health.

Steve kisses wet tracks down Bucky’s cheeks and… and, oh, Lord, Bucky’s crying, isn’t he? He didn’t even notice the heat behind his eyelids or moisture soaking into the blindfold, but now that he has he can’t stop. Steve doesn’t say anything; nothing at all. He just kisses every tear away lovingly no matter how fast they fall, gathering up Bucky’s mourning for things they’ve lost and his joy for the time they had; his overwhelming feelings for the man hovering above him, nurtured through friendship and hardship and years upon years of finding each other again and again. And here is Steve, letting Bucky find him one more time, asking Bucky to let Steve find him in turn with scent and sound and touch and it’s just too much. Bucky’s heart is too full and there’s nowhere else for anything to go except through the tears escaping the barrier of the cloth. He can hear his own choked-off whimper, the hitch of his breath as he tries to catch it through the swell of emotion.

It’s only when he hears Steve’s gentle words that he realizes he’s been sobbing. _Shhh_ and _It’s okay, you’re all right_ and _I’ve got you, Buck_ and _I love you too_ , all in Steve’s deep timbre with a waver that says he’s crying too. Even without the tremble in his voice, Bucky can feel hot tears falling on him, mingling with his own to slide onto the pillow under his head.

 _Thank you_ , he sobs. _Thank you, Stevie. I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I love you. Thank you._

If asked, he couldn’t tell you what he’s apologizing or grateful for. Everything. Anything. Grateful for Steve and his love and kisses and understanding and endless patience and never giving up on Bucky. Sorry for his own love that once almost destroyed Steve, for the time he lost and forgot, for his own selfishness because this, here, is something he wants only for himself forever. He doesn’t ever want anyone else to have Steve, his angel, because he’s not half so noble a creature as to share what he cradles so carefully in his hands and heart.

Steve rolls his cool forehead across Bucky’s overheated one and because he’s good and pure and true, Steve forgives him so easily and lets Bucky share all _his_ tears too. Bucky wants all of it, everything Steve gives him, he’ll keep, and gladly. No one can contest that right anymore because they declared themselves to everyone yesterday and now Bucky knows why those thin bands of metal are so important to Steve. It’s not for them, not really, because they know they belong to each other. It’s so everyone else see for themselves the promise of the love they bear, because Steve is wonderful and kind and Bucky will never deserve the symbol that says Steve gave himself away to someone like him, but he can try for the rest of his life to be worthy.

Steve’s kisses turn more purposeful, more possessive, and though Bucky _still_ can’t stop crying, when Steve takes him in hand he arcs eagerly into the touch. His tears are silent now, breathing shifting from sobbing with emotion to panting with pleasure and reveling in every point of contact they share. He’s completely lost in Steve when he feels a skilled hand spreading fragrant slick on his cock. Bucky’s freezes in anticipation, exhaling a long, shuddering breath when Steve works him into his warm body. He can’t help it when he rocks up but Steve just moans and Bucky can feel himself sink even deeper. The pace is deliciously agonizing, building tension until Bucky cries out when Steve has taken him all, tightening his muscles around Bucky’s achingly hard member. Bucky is already misted with sweat and they’ve only just started. He can feel the fine tremors of Steve’s body above him and despite the fact that they’re not rushing, he doubts either of them will last very long.

Bucky whimpers and refuses to move his hands from where Steve placed them, forcing him to stay at Steve’s pace. And Steve—Steve still doesn’t put his full weight on Bucky, even when the blond starts to moan and pant heavily. It keeps building the illusion in Bucky’s head, snippets of a completely different Steve cutting in and out of his mind’s eye. The effort to maintain his own weight makes Steve virgin-tight and that, too, matches up with those old memories, back when Steve was smaller than Bucky and had to struggle to help the blond take him all in. But when all is said and done, what Bucky really wants is just _his_ Stevie, whatever that means and whatever he looks like. It’s all too much; Bucky is on sensory overload and his heart is pounding fit to beat out of his chest.

“Steve, please,” he gasps raggedly. He has to force the words past his lips.

“ _Buck_.” Steve fumbles for the blindfold and Bucky takes that as permission, letting Steve remove the strip of cloth while the brunet lets go of the headboard to grab at his lover’s waist. He digs his fingers into the soft flesh and moans all over again at how _real_ this is. He has to blink rapidly to clear his vision, even the silver moonlight momentarily too much. But then Steve’s face swims into view _just_ as Steve gives in and clamps his legs around Bucky’s waist to spear himself on Bucky’s cock in earnest.

Bucky’s hands fly over miles of skin, gripping hard every time pleasure spikes through his body. He touches any part of Steve he can reach, jerking him down to kiss him with every intent of making his husband forget anything but Bucky’s name. Steve kisses back like he’s a dying man in a desert and Bucky’s lips are an oasis: hard and desperate and sloppy with greed. 

Steve’s muffled whines are music to Bucky’s ears. Every grunt, every moan, every bitten-off cry of his name is another note in a chorus. Bucky’s voice joins in counterpoint; deeper, visceral, growling in contrast to Steve’s breathy pitch. The brunet lets it all build up inside of him, even the roar of the ocean and whisper of the air joining in, piecing together each moment and measure. 

He only needs one more element to complete the arrangement. Reaching between them, he finds Steve’s cock and drags his thumb across the slit, gathering the precum there and spreading it to ease the slide of his palm down hard flesh. Steve’s breath hitches and this time Bucky braces himself, stroking fast and hard and ramming into Steve’s prostate with precision. Steve erupts between them, shock locking up his perfect body, teeth clamping down to muffle a scream and drawing blood from Bucky’s lower lip, but Bucky barely notices because _this_ is what he was looking for, the crowning note of many that sweep pleasure through him in a final crescendo. He keens as he comes, pleasure exploding through him until every nerve tingles with it, hands holding his lover in place for breathless moments until they’re both trembling and spent, Steve whimpering with overstimulation but still trying to lap at the blood welling from Bucky’s lip.

Later, clean and sated, Bucky holds Steve close so he can feel the strong beat of his heart and admire the gleam of his gold band in the cool light. Steve seems content to sweep his thumb over the knuckles of Bucky’s hand and lay together in silence.

Later still, Bucky hears a soft whisper. “Buck?”

Bucky hums to show he’s awake and listening.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“’Course.” The brunet smiles and brushes his lips across Steve’s soft, damp hair.

“I didn’t think I’d ever come home.”

Bucky can feel his heart crack a little. “Stevie…”

“No, hear me out. I drove that plane into the water because it was the right thing—the _only_ thing—to do. But I already knew by then that I wasn’t going home. And then I woke up decades later and nothing was the same; not even New York or our old haunts in Brooklyn. I thought seeing where we grew up, or getting to see Peggy or Howard’s son… I guess I figured that would make it easier, you know? Only it never did. Get easier, I mean. I couldn’t leave the battlefield; it was like I was stuck there forever. Like a being trapped in a nightmare. Sam and the folks at SHIELD kept telling me it was PTSD. It got to where I was scared of even getting close to the idea of leaving that place in my mind.” He takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“And you showed up. I didn’t think I’d ever… That I’d ever see you again. And it broke my heart, ‘cause you didn’t know me and I was all alone with both our memories plus some to spare. Not that I blame you, because I never did,” he cuts in quickly, heading off Bucky’s apology before it can leave his lips. “It just meant I was still lost. Still stuck. But I guess you’re right and I’m more stubborn than God Himself, but deep down I knew you had to know me no matter what anyone else said.”

“Even me,” Bucky murmurs.

“Even you,” Steve agrees easily. “But, Buck, looking back on it… I was home the minute I saw your face. Nothing else mattered. I don’t know why I kept thinking home was a place, or that it had to be the same thing it was before. ‘Cause the scenery might change, but the train keeps moving, right? As long as I got you, I’m home. ‘Til the end of the line.”

Steve, his sweet, innocent Stevie, brushes Bucky’s rough hands over his mouth so Bucky can feel the other man’s shy smile. His heart squeezes painfully in his chest and he remembers reading about a red string that ties people’s fates together. Maybe that’s what squeezes his heart now, that string that binds him and Steve so they can find each other no matter what. He can almost see it, weaving through Bucky’s very veins to tether him to his other heart; the one that lives and beats outside his body in the form of Steve Rogers. The string winds around and around almost without end between them. And maybe some people would think of that as a leash, but to Bucky it feels like a lifeline. He knows that delicate string of fate is safe in Steve’s hands.

A single string, with Bucky at one end and Steve wrapped in the other. 

“’Til the end of the line.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaaand, finished! I apologize for the length of this chapter, but it was the last one so I decided against splitting it up. 
> 
> For anyone wondering, Steve and Bucky used the color of each other’s eyes for their wedding colors. If you’re exclusively a movie fan, adamantium is a synthetic derivative of vibranium and extremely durable. And the red string of fate is a lovely concept found primarily in Chinese lore. Irrelevant, but I imagine that their wedding cake as something with lemon in it. Go figure. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> Thank you for staying with me and reading this far! I ended up having more fun than I thought and I’ve been absolutely living for the comments and kudos I’ve received. I can’t thank you all enough! If you’re reading this after the fact, I never turn down comments or kudos. ;) One can’t improve if one has no feedback, right?
> 
> <3<3<3


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